I'm not crazy - honest!

(Image from Pixmania.com)

Yes, I know that George over on Bike Riding Donut Guy said "I'd like to see Bluetooth earpieces outlawed unless your are driving. Let's face it, folks that use them and walk around talking to no one in particular look like assholes." Follow his link. It's hysterical!

But you know what? I got one of these as a Christmas gift, and while it's surely handy while driving, I have to admit that it's kinda fun to walk around in, oh, say the local WalMart talking to myself. Ten or twelve years ago, people felt conspicuous while talking in public on a cellular phone. It's much the same with the Bluetooth devices today. WalMart, of course, is chock-full of crazy people and extraterrestrials anyway, so I fit right in.

Now, I once worked in a psychiatric hospital where a lot of people walked around talking to themselves and this was long before the advent of cellular phones. They talked to everyone, the living and the dead, God, Klingons, and a host of others. Trust me, there's something peculiarly liberating about walking around in public talking to the air especially if you tend to talk with your hands a lot like I do! If it weren't for the Bluetooth device, the guys in the white coats would be coming for me.

I have to wonder if using this on a bike is a good idea, though, because besides the distraction it represents, if I get deeply engaged in a conversation, I'm likely to take my hands off the handlebars in order to make a point. As Phil Liggett would say, I'd probably wind up on the floor.

Purina Bachelor Chow...

(Image from REDACTED)

Apparently the folks at M****8Spit don't approve of my use of their image. That's fine. If I inadvertently sent some traffic their way by including a link to their page, I apologize for that, too.

Found via Dustbury.com who observed, "I note for reference that the Guaranteed Analysis covers eight components, three of which are described as "crude." Yep."

Ya know, this is one of those products that can greatly simplify a guy's life. Rather than decide between re-heating leftover Chinese in the microwave, popping another frozen pizza in the microwave, or calling in an order for more boring Mexican take out, he can just sit down in front of the television with a wholesome bag of Purina Bachelor Chow and a refreshing beer. No muss, no fuss, and certainly no dishes to wash! Whatta deal!

I think Rita Rudner said that all men wanted from life was sex, food, and a warm, dry place to sleep. "And then I realized - that's all my dog wanted from life too."

They could market this stuff to cyclists with some minor changes. "New! Improved Purina Bachelor Chow Endurance Formula with added Epo flavor!"

My thoughts on the Landis case...

OK, everyone knows the Landis decision has been released. According to the panel, he was guilty of doping during the 2006 Tour de France. I wrote some time ago that I believed they'd find him guilty. This is not an I-told-you-so because I was hoping to be proved wrong. The lab committed grave errors and the panel recognized that. But I won't cover the same ground Radio Freddy did in Belgium Knee Warmers. Please read his post.

Anyone who's seen a police procedural like 'Law and Order' or 'CSI' knows that the standards of evidence in a criminal prosecution are quite strict. In the Landis case, the standards were much less stringent. In fact, had he been tried in a court of law, the case would most likely have been dismissed.

And, that, ladies and gentlemen, is what I'm proposing. The testing standards and chain of custody should be as strict as those in any court of law, if only to protect the integrity of the testing process, the defendant's rights, and our wavering faith in the anti-doping process. And to enforce that high standard, any athlete should have recourse to the court system in any doping controversy. If the anti-doping agencies have the power to ruin an athlete's reputation and destroy him financially, that athlete should have the right to bring charges against the agency, in effect, forcing them to act within the law. WADA has quasi-legal authority now because in order to participate in his sport, a professional athlete must submit to their testing regimen. The balance of power is too heavily weighted to the prosecution side.

I gotta foot fascist!

...or maybe it's a foot fetish? Nah, that ain't it.

I've had minor pain in my right foot for a couple of months. It was worst when I got out of bed in the morning, sometimes so bad I could hardly walk. But after a few minutes, it eased off.

A week ago, it started to feel exactly like a vibrating cell phone inside my foot. I made an appointment to see the doctor. I HATE going to the doctor!

Long story short - I have plantar fasciitis, an inflammation of the tendon that goes under the arch. I had it on the left side a couple of years ago, and the pain was directly under the arch. Anti-inflammatories and stretching took care of it. This time, it's the attachment at the heel that's inflamed. The solution: naproxen and one of those squishy gel inserts. Oh, and more stretching.

But yesterday's good news is this - my blood pressure is down and I don't need meds for it anymore! Clean living has some benefits! I had a beer to celebrate.

The other good news - foot fascists don't interfere with cycling. I may not be able to walk for more than half an hour or so, but I can still ride.

Motorist 101

I've covered the basics of walking and cycling in Walking 101 and Cycling 101. Presumably there are some cyclists who may wish to learn how to drive a car. Motoring 101 is an introductory-level course in learning to operate one. Long-time cyclists may be unfamiliar with the concepts inherent in owning and driving a motor vehicle, so the following is aimed primarily at them.

One rule of thumb: The newer and more expensive the vehicle, the fewer laws that apply. Once you've seen the advantages a new car owner receives, it makes little sense to buy a used one. If your budget will cover only a dingy, dented old car or truck, you might be better off to continue as a cyclist.

First, you'll notice that a car is much larger and heavier than your bicycle. It cannot turn or stop as quickly. In fact, cars are about as nimble as a brick, so it's imperative that you learn their limitations. This means that cars are fairly boring to drive since they can't dodge around potholes, patches of glass, and other road debris. Basically, you just sit there and keep the car going straight down the road without wandering from side to side. You find yourself staring at roadway that changes oh-so-slowly. It's like watching a video game where nothing exciting happens.

How to enhance your motoring experience:

Modern automobiles are equipped with high-power sound systems, so you can listen to music at deafening levels. The sun visors are equipped with vanity mirrors so you can check your makeup, style your hair, or insert your contact lenses while you're behind the wheel. A cellular phone will let you keep in touch while driving, and a small television can be propped up on the dash. All modern cars have cup holders, so you don't have to juggle a drink and a sandwich. Also, the dash is convenient for placing Chinese take-out, though eating with chopsticks is best left to advanced drivers. Practice your technique in light traffic. Older, less technologically astute drivers may enjoy reading a book or magazine to relieve the tedium.

Vehicle Controls:

You may ask, "What are those pedals down on the floor?" The brake pedal is easy to understand. It performs the same function as the brake on a bicycle. But the other pedal makes the vehicle accelerate; therefore it's called the accelerator. It's much like the pedals on your bicycle. Pedaling makes it go, and the accelerator has the same function. You'll notice it's larger than the brake pedal, because the accelerator is more important than the brake. This is a crucial concept. Motoring enjoyment comes from the use of the accelerator, not the brake. Car ads on television always show someone zooming along on an open road. They never show a car braking heavily to avoid a collision. The accelerator exists to allow you to go as fast as possible whenever possible, so don't be afraid to use it.

The horn can be used as a signaling device to warn other motorists, pedestrians, or cyclists of your approach, but it's more commonly used to voice your displeasure at encountering another road user who doesn't defer to your superior vehicle, superior attitude, and superior life style. The proper way to do this is to blare the horn as long as possible. If weather permits, it's also good form to lean out the side window and curse at the offender. This is especially important if that person is a child, an elderly woman, or someone in a wheelchair who won't get out of your way fast enough.

Turn signals are often misunderstood. Don't bother to use them.

Helmets are not necessary for motorists, neither are those annoying seatbelts with their buzzers and warning lights. In fact, nearly all the so-called safety equipment in a modern automobile exists mainly to enrich the manufacturers and their lawyers. Ignore all of it.

Driving in Style:

Speed limit signs are merely advisory. Remember - the most important part of your car is the accelerator, and speed limits imply that you must use the brake pedal. The accelerator takes precedence, so ignore those signs.

In school zones or residential areas, you're likely to encounter numerous children. Again, your accelerator takes precedence, but be prepared to blare the horn and yell curses out the side window as you narrowly avoid mowing down some child or a mother pushing a stroller.

All new drivers should learn the two-foot driving technique. To do this, put your right foot on the accelerator and your left foot on the brake. Apply light pressure to the brake pedal intermittently. This will flash your brake lights while the car continues traveling at speed. The technique causes other drivers to think you’re unpredictable, and naturally they give you more space on the road. This is similar to the cycling practice of riding up and down off the sidewalk, cutting through parking lots, and jumping curbs in front of moving cars. It makes drivers very nervous, and they treat you with greater respect as a result.

And speaking of sidewalks, just like riding a bicycle, it's possible to drive on a sidewalk if it's wide enough for a car. Just go slowly if pedestrians are present and give them a chance to scurry for cover while blaring your horn. Most municipalities have antiquated laws prohibiting this, but they're seldom enforced.

Most of the time you'll find it's necessary to park your car in an actual parking lot, preferably within the neatly painted lines. If you have a new car, it's permissible to park diagonally across those lines, occupying several parking spaces in order to prevent anyone from parking next to your new, cherished vehicle and possibly denting or scratching it. You may want to park like this near the front of the lot, so that others can admire your new car too. If you're in a hurry or you're far more important that the mere hoi polloi, park directly in front of the entrance or even up on the sidewalk. When it's raining or snowing, all rules are off.

In our increasingly restrictive society, on-ramps offer the best opportunity to try out your new skills and discover the performance parameters of your new vehicle. Remember, the accelerator pedal takes precedence, so accelerate hard, signal your intention to merge with traffic at the top of the ramp (if desired), lean on the horn and yell something scathing out the window if you have to either change direction or decrease speed. On the other hand, if you're already on the highway and someone tries to merge from an on-ramp, refuse to give them any space, blare your horn, and yell obscenities out the window.

In general, it's a good idea to exit from a limited-access road on a formal off-ramp, but if you're in a hurry, an informal off-ramp can be used too. These are merely grassy areas adjacent to another road. Simply drive across the grass to make an informal exit. If the area is sloped, your tire tracks will eventually form ruts that lead to erosion. Complain loudly about public money - your tax money - being wasted on useless landscaping, unless the erosion undermines the roadway and you drive into the resulting pothole. In that case, complain loudly about your tax money being diverted from road maintenance.

Stop signs are only defacto yields, just like on a bicycle. No one stops for stop signs unless there's cross traffic, not even cops. So you can safely ignore them.

Red lights are slightly different from stop signs since they're usually located at busy intersections, but you can ignore them most of the time too. Stop only if there's cross traffic. The police can't be bothered ticketing you for running a red light on your bicycle. It’s no different for a motorist. Unless there's a cop present at an intersection, you can ignore red lights with impunity. Traffic laws only apply to the meek.

Good Excuses:

Despite the obvious superiority of a new driver with a spankin' new car, some Neolithic police officers insist on stopping and ticketing them. In the unlikely event you should encounter one of these benighted officers, here are a few tried and true excuses that will prevent him from tagging you with a violation.

"He came within ten feet of my car and almost scratched it! I had to defend myself!" This is a near-universal excuse whenever a pedestrian or pesky cyclist is in the way. After you've bunted one of them, use it when an officer responds. He'll most likely praise your attention to civic duty, and you'll drive off with his admiration and respect. Then he'll go to the prostrate body and kick it off the road.

(In all honesty, I once watched as a motorist complained to a police officer that someone had collided with his truck while it was parked in front of the gym. This guy was down on his knees behind the pickup, explaining to the officer that if he got down low and had the sunlight hit the chromed bumper just right, he could see where the offender contacted it. At best, there may have been a small scratch or even a smudge, but it speaks volumes about the near-crazed ego involvement some people have with their motor vehicles. The cop wasn't about to get down on his knees. He gave the guy a withering look and said he couldn't see anything that warranted writing a report. Basically, anal guy was wasting his time.)

"He swerved in front of me all sudden-like." This can be used in conjunction with the excuse above, but it also stands quite well on its own. However, it's not recommended if an officer is conducting a field sobriety test and the driver has already admitted to seeing two of everything. "Honest, officer, there was two of them cyclists wandering all over the road and I just tried to drive between 'em!"

Alcohol and motoring do not go together for the very same reasons that alcohol and cycling do not go together. As you know, a drink or two are very effective at improving kidney function, necessitating frequent stops in order to alleviate all that bladder pressure. If you’re forced to park the car and then get out to find a convenient tree or bush, your travel time increases. So if at all possible, avoid drinking and driving.

"He needed killin'!" This is a catchall phrase that covers a wide variety of Oklahoma mayhem. While it's not very effective regarding bludgeoning, shooting, or stabbing, it may work when a motorist runs down a cyclist or pedestrian, using a ton or more of steel and glass as a battering ram against flesh and bone. Be aware, however, that the driver may have to pay a nominal fine.

In Conclusion:

You'll discover quickly that a new car is almost an extension of your body, and that this new member is both highly sensitive and deserving of protection. You'll swell with pride whenever your hand strokes it. A new car makes the owner proud. You'll stand taller and more rigidly erect. Thrusting it into traffic makes you feel more alive, more aware and far more sexy, leading you to do it again, and again, and again, until you reach that climactic moment, a release of motoring pleasure that is so overwhelming it feels as if the whole planet moved beneath you.

Just try not to be a dick about it.

Prefromence ehnancing drugs....

OK, in the interest of full disclosure, I have to come clean. I've used performance enhancing drugs.

There, I've said it. I feel SO much better, though Dick Pound will probably denounce me now.

I was a competitive swimmer back in high school - not a great swimmer, though. Right before a meet, our coach handed out 'butterfly pills', antacids that were supposed to prevent hurling. Vomiting in the pool is definitely frowned upon when you're sharing the water with team mates and competitors. It's good form to make it to the side of the pool and hurl in the scuppers if you can't run to the men's room.

It was common for someone to upchuck during practice. I once swam thorugh a cloud of spaghetti after it had been on the menu at lunch. This was not especially appetizing, despite the high chlorine level in the water.

We had sugar pills too, supposedly glucose that would provide quick energy. They tasted like Sweet Tarts. Chances are they were nothing more than candy.

I've abused alcohol too. It improved my pinball game and made me far more attractive to women, though I know that last is hard to believe. I'm starting at the top of my game, so to speak, and a couple of drinks only adds an extra layer of gloss to an already shiny exterior. (Mary rolled her eyes at this. I can't imagine why.)

These days, when I have a glass of wine in the evening, I make sure the front door is locked. That way I don't have to fend off hordes of beautiful women intent on ravishing me yet again. I can snore in uninterrupted peace.

What really sparked these thoughts about drugs and performance was a biographical piece on the late gonzo journalist Huster S. Thompson. He used copious quantities of drugs and alcohol to fuel his writing. I can't do that, of course, though it's certainly true that I use some drugs - mainly ibuprofen and antacids. Alcohol just makes me sleepy.

The other thought in tandem with the above is that I feel I'm in a slump right now. Writing has been a chore rather than something I enjoy. Writing comedy is hard when the ideas have to be forced onto the pages. I love it when a piece seems to flow from my fingertips into the keyboard, but that hasn't happened recently. So, I've been toying with the idea of changing my preferred performance enhancing drug, strong coffee. Usually, I drink the dark roasts like Italian or French. Lighter roasts have more caffeine, however, and I'm wondering if the extra jolt would help fire my imagination. It may be something to investigate this weekend.

In addition to feeling mentally down, I'm physically down too. My knees have been painful for about 2 months. The right one felt as if it would buckle at any moment. I've been walking slowly and taking stairs very gingerly. Even stepping down from a curb had to be done carefully.

So I haven't ridden my bike to work for over a week. It seems this relative ease has helped them heal. Or at least the worst of the pain seems to be gone. I'll be back in the saddle on Monday.

Telephone survey...

I answered the telephone and took part in a survey regarding the Tulsa City-County Health Department. The woman on the phone sounded like someone's elderly aunt or grandmother, otherwise I would have hung up on her. I don't like surveys, generally. Too often telemarketers use them as introductions for their sales pitch. Call me at home and try to sell me something, and you'll be listening to dead air almost immediately. I have little patience for telemarketers.

But as I said, this woman sounded different, so I stayed on the line. She asked hard questions about the focus of our health department. Which is most important - reducing teen tobacco use, fighting obesity through education, inspecting restaurants, or preparing to fight infectious diseases? In my mind, all of them are important, but reducing tobacco use and fighting obesity are the top two. I'm hard pressed to decide between them, however.

Tobacco is responsible for 435,000 deaths per year in the United States, so it's clearly a public health issue. Those deaths are preventable. If we discourage teens from using tobacco products, presumably we can reduce the number of deaths in the future. Here's hoping.

Obesity (and the various diseases that accompany it) is estimated to cause between 280,000 and 325,000 deaths per year. Again, these deaths are almost entirely preventable. We’re fat, lazy people who don’t want to hear about diet and exercise. We’d rather spend enormous amounts of money on magic pills that with dubious promises like “LOSE WEIGHT WHILE YOU SLEEP!" (Actually, we do lose weight while we sleep. It’s called dehydration.)

Cycling, or any other cardiovascular exercise, can be part of any weight-reduction plan. My doctor says that anything that increases our heart rate, gets us up off the couch - and away from the refrigerator - is good for us. He recommends walking, cycling, or skating. If I recall right, an adult should get 30 minutes of exercise every day. If that means a trip to the gym, well, OK. But it's much more pleasant to ride a bike back and forth to work, killing two birds with one two-wheeled vehicle.

There were other questions about public health issues, the health department’s website, and the “Don’t Bug Me” program aimed at preventing the spread of cold and flu. I hadn’t visited the website for over a year, so I was pleasantly surprised to find the restaurant inspection information had been restored. At one time, you could see the complete field report for any restaurant in Tulsa County, and you could search the database by community. It’s changed now. You can sort only by the restaurant name and you don’t see the report, only a summary. Still, it’s good information.

I used the site to look at the inspections performed on some local restaurants. It was especially revealing to see which ones had repeated violations for the same offenses. I’d visited 2 that left the back door open for ventilation in kitchen area. That open door invited every housefly in town right into the food preparation areas. I refused to eat there. Both those restaurants are now out of business. Another one had multiple violations for rodent infestations. I don't eat there, either.

Trouserless in Wonderland: A Wally Crankset Tale

It was a lovely day for a winter ride. The wind was calm for once, and although the temperature was below freezing, brilliant sunlight made it seem warmer. Wally and I rode out of Broken Elbow toward the hills north of town. I was dressed in winter cycling gear, but Wally preferred an old pair of wool trousers combined with favorite plaid wool shirt. The pants had seen better days and looked like they'd provided meals for several generations of clothes moths. But Wally was on an anti-synthetics binge, and he'd given up wearing anything that wasn't composed of 'natural' fibers. I figured a woman was behind it all, but I had more sense than to ask.

He wore a helmet despite its all-plastic construction, because the Super Bowl was coming up and he wanted to honor his beloved Minnesota Vikings. He'd stuck a pair of plastic horns on the helmet so he looked like a kind of wooly Viking himself.

"Wally, it's the Colts and the Bears this time", I said. "Minnesota isn't going to be there."

He ignored me. I figured he just liked the horns.

Wally rode his old beater, a Schwinn Varsity he called the Norway rat of bicycles. He'd converted it to a fixed gear. The bike was old and rusty, and it seemed to weigh a ton. Wally said it was like an old Pontiac with "road hugging weight" and he wasn't far wrong. The thing was a tank, with wide tires and pitiful brakes.

We followed the state highway for a few miles, and then started climbing into the hills on a lesser-traveled county road. The road was covered with hard-packed snow and it crunched under our tires. We were on the very first downhill when disaster struck. Wally was spinning furiously, trying to keep up with the fixed gear when his trouser cuff caught in the chain. The trousers disintegrated immediately, went around the chain ring once or twice, then the remaining pieces lodged in the back wheel. The sudden lurch gave my friend an inadvertent flying lesson, and just like Arthur Dent, he hoped to remain airborne by missing the ground. It didn't work, and he hit the roadside, tumbling through the snow until he slid to a stop. The Schwinn bounced a few times, then it too fell into a snow bank, its rear wheel hopelessly taco'd. A moth struggled free, desperately trying to fly in the cold winter air. Wally jumped to his feet. A single horn remained on his helmet. The long slide had packed snow into places that snow was never meant to be, and Wally was vigorously brushing it away, the cold giving him great incentive. He cussed a blue streak too.

"Gosh, Wally! Those pants ripped right off, just like one of those Chippendales guys!" Or so I'm told. I've never watched male exotic dancers. But I was deeply thankful for one small thing, a minor detail that made the experience a little more pleasant. Wally was not going commando that day. He had white long johns under those decrepit old trousers, and I'd thought it was just his gleaming white legs showing through all the holes.

But now the problem was how to get back to town. It was a long walk. I offered to ride back, get my car, and drive out to pick him up.

"OK, you go get the car. I'll stay warm by walking toward the state highway. But I'm not gonna leave my bike here. I'll carry it if I have to."

He could have leaned that old Schwinn up against a signpost. No one would bother with it. But Wally was always stubborn about his bikes, and I wasn't going to waste time arguing. It was getting colder and the sun would set in another hour or so. I gave him my new fleece vest to help keep him warm and set off for Broken Elbow, pedaling fast in an effort to stay warm myself.

Note to self: Never again buy a motor vehicle from any car lot with the word "Honest" in the title. "Honest" George Tirebiter, indeed! In a moment of weakness, I'd allowed George to sell me a classic 1964 Lincoln Continental. My 'classic' was temperamental, which is dealer-speak for an extreme pain-in-the-ass. It wouldn't start on rainy days. It wouldn't start on blisteringly hot summer days. We'd named it the "Carship Enterprise" because it was enormous. I suspected the engine was controlled by the phases of the moon, so I hoped as I pedaled back toward town that this week was one of the good phases, otherwise I might find a Wally-sickle when I returned.

As I rode home, Wally was slowly freezing back in the woods, regardless of the effort necessary to carry that heavy old Schwinn. He resorted to dragging it, using the front wheel as a handle. The hard-packed snow made the task easier, and after he'd crested that first hill, it was all downhill to the state highway. But the wind was picking up and Wally was getting very cold in what he quaintly described as his 'nether regions'. So he removed the plaid wool shirt and tied it around his waist, then used his belt to cinch it tighter. It looked like a ratty kilt. He threaded the seat bag from the bike onto the belt, in an effort to cover the gap in front and keep the wind out.

Wally admired his handiwork for only a moment, and then trudged onward. He thought about the summer's Scottish games as a way to keep his mind off the cold. We'd learned that it's not wise to laugh at a guy wearing a skirt when he's carrying a long, two-handed broadsword. But the games also exposed Wally to a far more dangerous weapon, one with a sinister reputation. Wally fell in love with the bagpipes.

"If I only had my bagpipes", Wally lamented, "I could MARCH into town with my head held high!"

Wally was attracted to strange musical instruments. He had no musical talent whatsoever, but that never dissuaded him from trying something new. His dog ran away when Wally started banjo lessons, and he was threatened with eviction when he tried to learn the accordion. The dog returned, only to find Wally enamored with bagpipes. After that, we could never determine if the dog was deaf or merely catatonic. He seldom moved from his lair behind the couch.

One day, Big Daddy's Funeral Home called Wally. They wanted a piper for a funeral. Wally was nervous so he had a couple of drinks first. They didn't help him play better, but they certainly helped him play LOUDER. A fistfight broke out between those who wanted to kill him and those who wanted to torture him first, then kill him. After the dust settled, most of Big Daddy's furniture was broken. Both Wally and the deceased were nowhere to be found, leading to rumors that Wally's pipes could wake the dead.

These thoughts kept him warm as he slogged along the road dragging the Schwinn.

I struggled trying to get the car to start. It caught and died again and again. The battery was weakening and I knew it wouldn't last much longer. I'd checked that the plug wires were tight and not arcing, and I'd even dug out a can of ether. As a last resort, I placed my "Thor: Norse God of Thunder" voodoo doll on top of the air cleaner. It ran a minute or two, and then dropped to a rough idle. But it kept running - that was the important part! Never underestimate the power of voodoo when it comes to old cars. Every mechanic has a voodoo doll hidden away somewhere, though they don't like to admit it.

It wasn't quite dark as the Carship Enterprise rumbled along the state highway. As I rounded a bend, I thought there was a drunk driver coming at me, but the car swerved back into its lane at the last second. Then I realized it was Broken Elbow's lone police cruiser. Fred and Ethel drove by and waved, with Fred laughing so hard he could barely control the car.

Sure enough, Wally was just down the road, hopping up and down and yelling at full volume! He clutched a broken axe in his fist. I gave some thought to simply driving on, but there aren't too many '64 Continentals on the road, and he'd surely recognize the car. I realized he'd wrapped the shirt around his waist, but there was fresh blood all over my new vest and most of his face.

Wally was furious. "Fred and Ethel just LEFT me here! I could freeze to death and those two wouldn't care!" His Schwinn was a battered wreck, and he still had a firm grip on that axe.

"I found this busted axe up on the hill", he said. "Someone was up there cutting a deadfall for firewood and they just left it behind. I figured I could use it to pop that wheel back into shape and ride home. So I was using the side of the axe to hit the wheel. It bounced back and smacked me in the nose!" That explained all the blood. Wally's nose appeared to be broken. He'd have a nice pair of shiners in the morning. While it's possible to pop a pretzeled wheel back into shape, it's best done by hand, not with tools. But Wally was never one to trifle with finesse when brute force was available.

"Ethel said if I fixed the bike, I could try to ride really, really fast and perhaps no one would notice that my trousers were missing! Then he laughed. They floored the cruiser and threw mud all over me!" Wally was still waving that axe around and yelling, so I didn't say anything. "Everyone says I'm crazy and that just not true!"

It was hard to refute that statement when he looked like a Viking berserker, the battered remains of his Schwinn lying on the ground behind him.

I was hesitant, but I still had to ask. "Um, what happened to your bike, Wally? Did Fred and Ethel run over it?"

He looked a little sheepish. "I lost my temper", he said, "and took it out on the bike. I bashed it and bashed it. It felt right at the time, but now I'm not so sure."

We loaded the bike into the trunk along with the broken axe and a couple pieces of firewood, then drove off toward Broken Elbow. It was snowing lightly, and with any luck, we'd have a quiet, uneventful evening.

Wednesday Musette

New Year's Day

Most places have a traditional New Year's ride. I've tried to attend one every January first unless the weather has been truly atrocious or I've been ill.

Gary and Barbara Parker hosted a ride this year. David and Sandra Crisp were there, and although Gary invited my family, I was the only one who could attend. Lyndsay was working. Jordan slept late - as teenagers are prone to do. And Mary wasn't feeling very well.

To make a long story short, the womenfolk went on a 10 mile loop while us he-man types did about 20. David and Gary were on racing bikes, while I was on my ancient Pennine fixed gear. I can't help but be a technological Luddite! We had a nice ride out north of Tulsa, and fortunately I didn't die riding up the hill on Apache.

Chili and fruit awaited us at Gary's house. We sat down to a very nice lunch.

But there's always a fly in the ointment, and that brings me to...


The Osage Prairie Trail

The OPT is a rail-to-trail conversion that goes north from OSU-Tulsa to Skiatook. I've ridden it a few times, but hadn't been over that way for months. The trail was completed just last year, so the pavement is in very good condition. It's smooth and fast - or it should be fast. The problem is numerous patches of broken glass. I'd be afraid to travel at speed on this trail because it would be far more difficult to dodge all the shards.

I screwed up, too. I slowed at an intersection, concentrating on a car to my left. I didn't notice one to the right and I stopped abruptly when I finally did. Gary wasn't able to get a foot down and he toppled over, narrowly missing a bollard and some huge chunks of a broken bottle. His tumble was my fault as I didn't give him any warning.

Like many urban trails, the OPT collects broken glass and other debris. If the trail is to remain usable, it needs regular maintenance. It needs to be swept clean now and then, or cyclists will avoid it. And that would be a tragic loss because this trail could provide a growth corridor for small businesses. I already know where to find ice cream in Skiatook, for instance, and similar businesses could attract cyclists as well.


Bicycle Maintenance and Repair Class

Tulsa Technology Center has this in the spring catalog:

NEW Bicycle Care and Maintenance SPIN-3501

Bicycle ridership and enjoyment are rising, and with good reason - advances in technology and materials are making bikes faster, safer, and more enjoyable.
Sometimes a simple turn of a wrench can make the difference between leading the pack or packing it in. Learn how to get the most from your two-wheeled experiences, and how to care for and maintain your machine. 8 hours. $45.00
RS S400 Staff 04/04/07-04/25/07 06:00PM-08:00PM W 4

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And finally...Midget Strippers!

We were passing one of Tulsa's "gentleman's clubs" on Saturday evening. It had a huge lighted marquee out near the street with "Midget Strippers" done up in big letters. Mary and Lyndsay were giggling uncontrollably about it, until I said, "It's a really short act that's easily overlooked." They groaned and rolled their eyes, but the giggling fits came back from time to time for the rest of the evening.

LA Times Doping Story: Part 2

Honestly, this is what news journalism should be about, not celebrity worship, sex and drugs, or an endless parade of murder and mayhem. The Times is doing a public service.....Ed

PRESUMED GUILTY

Athletes see doping case appeals as futile exercise

The arbitration system is flawed, with a tilt toward accusers. Accidental and trivial cases result in harsh penalties.

By Michael A. Hiltzik, Times Staff Writer
December 11, 2006

Second of two parts

A panel of international sports arbitrators hearing a doping case against Olympic sprinter Torri Edwards went out of their way to sing her praises.

They described Edwards, then a 27-year-old USC graduate, as "a diligent and hardworking athlete" who had "conducted herself with honesty, integrity and character."

They acknowledged that her purported breach of doping regulations was entirely unintentional, caused by the obscure additive nikethamide in a couple of otherwise innocent glucose tablets she took at an exhibition race in Martinique.

"She has not sought to gain any improper advantage or to 'cheat' in any way," they wrote in August 2004.

But the arbitrators, while expressing "unease" about the rules and acknowledging their "harshness," still found Edwards guilty of doping. Her sanction: a two-year suspension from international competition.

The punishment was indistinguishable from what could have been imposed on an athlete caught deliberately injecting steroids. It wiped out Edwards' eligibility for the 2004 Summer Olympics in Athens.

Full story at: http://www.latimes.com/sports/la-me-doping11dec11,0,2983494.story?coll=la-headlines-sports