Yesterday I came home from work a little groggy and very unenthusiastic about the group ride. This often happens to me. It is difficult to sit around all day and then try to get geared up for what is almost always a couple of painful hours. Of course, it feels really good when it's over. Especially while sipping beer with my legs up in the recliner.
While trying to decide whether or not I should go on the ride, the sky outside was getting darker and darker. We have had a lot of quick and violent thunderstorms this summer. When I checked the radar it looked almost OK. But I had been burned by this in the past. Finally at around 5 o'clock I remembered those other days that I went out and got pummeled by thunderstorms. The rides turned out just fine, but there were always a lot of worrisome moments and plenty of thoughts like, "this is stupid. Why are you riding your bike into a storm front?"
So I decided to stay home. I felt much better once I made this decision. Instead of riding, I made tea and sat down to read Frank Conroy's Body & Soul. I had started it the day before when I foolishly left my other book (Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale) at work. I was somewhat resistant when I started Conroy's story, as I was really curious about what was going to happen to Offred. But after only a page or two I was sucked in.
The protagonist is a young boy named Claude who has a natural talent for music. He goes from teacher to teacher learning everything from scales and posture to theory and composition. It is very well written and I find the music parts fascinating. They are extremely detailed, but not at all tedious to a non-music person like myself.
There is something simple about the story, too. About a hundred pages in I found myself thinking that it was really nothing new, that there was really nothing special about this book, but I liked it anyways. It was also around this time that the boy's only consistent tutor told Claude that his story of growing up had been told countless times, and that he really wasn't all that special or unique. I love it when authors are aware of these things and share that fact with their readers.
But the real reason I have been enjoying this novel (I'm not finished with it yet), I believe, is that I love the Bildungsroman genre. I have long said that I prefer the beginnings of stories to the other parts. The way the characters are introduced, come together, slowly encounter problems and begin to work through them. I find it all very exciting. And inevitably the feeling changes as the story progresses. But with the bildungsroman, I think the beginning feeling is prolonged just a little bit more. And for some reason I appreciate that.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Returns (Sorry, it's a long one)
I know, it has been awhile since my last writing. In this time things have been both extremely busy and wonderfully quiet. A few weeks ago I went to Geneva, Il for my sister's wedding. It was a hectic weekend, but both Robin and I maintain that it was one of the most fun weddings we have ever been to. Good food, good drinks, lots of dancing, and good company.
When we returned we did a little housesitting for an awkward pair of shelties. This was a little bit of an uncomfortable week. I think I might have a slight dog allergy, as I was very cloudy in the head every morning that week. Thankfully, the gig paid well, and Robin eloquently declined the invitation to sit again.
In this time I have also done a little bit of riding, but nothing to write home about. I have mostly been working and reading books in my free time. When I announced my departure from Ph.D-dom back in May, I suggested that it would give me much more time to read for fun and leave me more excited to talk about what I have read. In that time I have only talked about one book, Chabon's The Mysteries of Pittsburgh (which I still think is great), but I have actually read many books these last few months.
When I first stepped away from my studies I was excited to immerse myself in some guilty pleasure reading. Robin and I are both fans of the epic sci-fi/fantasy adventure genre, and she particularly enjoys listening to books of this sort on tape (well, ipod, really) while at work. I suggested that she give Stephen King's The Gunslinger a try and told her that, if she liked it, there were dozens of hours of listening that could follow.
I started reading the massive Dark Tower series when I was a teenager. The first four works delighted me, as had many other stories of King's. But then he took a break from the Dark Tower and I went off to college and started reading different things. When Robin listened to the first book and I saw how much she enjoyed it, I knew I had get back into the series myself. And rather than picking up where I left off, I decided to start over from the beginning.
The epic tale did not disappoint. But after reading the first five books in succession, I realized I needed a little break from the massive story and yearned for some more character-driven tales. Around this time Steve had mentioned that he started re-reading David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest, a gargantuan story of tennis, drugs, terrorist politics, and pretty much everything related and not related to those three things. I had forced myself through this dense work (it's a thousand pages and has probably 300 or more intensely detailed footnotes) in the summer of 2005. For the most part, I enjoyed it. But I did not get everything out of it that I should have. And listening to Steve recount the amusing happenings at the Enfield Tennis Academy sparked my interest to give it a re-read, too.
Unfortunately, Infinite Jest is not a great substitute for a seven volume epic story. I read the first hundred pages, and for the most part really enjoyed them, but I had to put it aside. I think I will still re-read it, but it will probably happen in chunks.
Instead I looked to our rather large bookshelf and started pulling things off that I acquired long ago and never read. In quick succession I read two Pulitzer Prize winning novels. Although the major prizes have their problems (I think Sinclair Lewis's explanation for why he refused the Pulitzer is a nice place to start. Although, it should be noted that five years later he did accept the Nobel Prize for Literature), I generally find that they are good reads. Indeed, many of my favorite books and authors are Pulitzer Prize winners (Kavalier and Clay, Middlesex, Jhumpa Lahiri, Willa Cather, and others).
So I sat down to two rather interesting tales of the decline of American values and icons--Phillip Roth's American Pastoral and Richard Russo's Empire Falls. Both have a strong postmodern undercurrent that leaves one grasping for some kind of stability in life. The former does so with a more serious tone of regret and violence, and the latter is a little more flippant and carefree. I am happy I read them both, but I preferred Empire Falls.
This morning, though, I found myself bookless. Well, not completely, there are others on the shelf that I have not read, but none of them called out to me. So I spun on down to the library and returned with Mohsin Hamid's The Reluctant Fundamentalist. It was a finalist for the Booker Prize last year, and I am yet to be disappointed by a Booker. It is a short, powerful book set in Lahore, Pakistan in which the Pakistani narrator recounts his life in the United States to an American traveler. The entire book takes place over the course of one sitting, and I think it is best to read the story over the course of one sitting as well. Hamid manages to convey many details through his sparse prose, and the narrator is a fascinating mix between a wealthy Pakistani interested in American cliches and a brilliant, highly educated financial analyst. I highly recommend the story.
While I have no intention of being a book reviewer, I will try to write about my readings with a little more frequency. And if I don't wait so long before I discuss them, I might be able to say more interesting things about each one. But as always, no promises from this blogger.
When we returned we did a little housesitting for an awkward pair of shelties. This was a little bit of an uncomfortable week. I think I might have a slight dog allergy, as I was very cloudy in the head every morning that week. Thankfully, the gig paid well, and Robin eloquently declined the invitation to sit again.
In this time I have also done a little bit of riding, but nothing to write home about. I have mostly been working and reading books in my free time. When I announced my departure from Ph.D-dom back in May, I suggested that it would give me much more time to read for fun and leave me more excited to talk about what I have read. In that time I have only talked about one book, Chabon's The Mysteries of Pittsburgh (which I still think is great), but I have actually read many books these last few months.
When I first stepped away from my studies I was excited to immerse myself in some guilty pleasure reading. Robin and I are both fans of the epic sci-fi/fantasy adventure genre, and she particularly enjoys listening to books of this sort on tape (well, ipod, really) while at work. I suggested that she give Stephen King's The Gunslinger a try and told her that, if she liked it, there were dozens of hours of listening that could follow.
I started reading the massive Dark Tower series when I was a teenager. The first four works delighted me, as had many other stories of King's. But then he took a break from the Dark Tower and I went off to college and started reading different things. When Robin listened to the first book and I saw how much she enjoyed it, I knew I had get back into the series myself. And rather than picking up where I left off, I decided to start over from the beginning.
The epic tale did not disappoint. But after reading the first five books in succession, I realized I needed a little break from the massive story and yearned for some more character-driven tales. Around this time Steve had mentioned that he started re-reading David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest, a gargantuan story of tennis, drugs, terrorist politics, and pretty much everything related and not related to those three things. I had forced myself through this dense work (it's a thousand pages and has probably 300 or more intensely detailed footnotes) in the summer of 2005. For the most part, I enjoyed it. But I did not get everything out of it that I should have. And listening to Steve recount the amusing happenings at the Enfield Tennis Academy sparked my interest to give it a re-read, too.
Unfortunately, Infinite Jest is not a great substitute for a seven volume epic story. I read the first hundred pages, and for the most part really enjoyed them, but I had to put it aside. I think I will still re-read it, but it will probably happen in chunks.
Instead I looked to our rather large bookshelf and started pulling things off that I acquired long ago and never read. In quick succession I read two Pulitzer Prize winning novels. Although the major prizes have their problems (I think Sinclair Lewis's explanation for why he refused the Pulitzer is a nice place to start. Although, it should be noted that five years later he did accept the Nobel Prize for Literature), I generally find that they are good reads. Indeed, many of my favorite books and authors are Pulitzer Prize winners (Kavalier and Clay, Middlesex, Jhumpa Lahiri, Willa Cather, and others).
So I sat down to two rather interesting tales of the decline of American values and icons--Phillip Roth's American Pastoral and Richard Russo's Empire Falls. Both have a strong postmodern undercurrent that leaves one grasping for some kind of stability in life. The former does so with a more serious tone of regret and violence, and the latter is a little more flippant and carefree. I am happy I read them both, but I preferred Empire Falls.
This morning, though, I found myself bookless. Well, not completely, there are others on the shelf that I have not read, but none of them called out to me. So I spun on down to the library and returned with Mohsin Hamid's The Reluctant Fundamentalist. It was a finalist for the Booker Prize last year, and I am yet to be disappointed by a Booker. It is a short, powerful book set in Lahore, Pakistan in which the Pakistani narrator recounts his life in the United States to an American traveler. The entire book takes place over the course of one sitting, and I think it is best to read the story over the course of one sitting as well. Hamid manages to convey many details through his sparse prose, and the narrator is a fascinating mix between a wealthy Pakistani interested in American cliches and a brilliant, highly educated financial analyst. I highly recommend the story.
While I have no intention of being a book reviewer, I will try to write about my readings with a little more frequency. And if I don't wait so long before I discuss them, I might be able to say more interesting things about each one. But as always, no promises from this blogger.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Lesson Un-Learned
A few weeks ago I wrote about a crazy ride I had with Steve. We set out under nice skies and were then treated to tornado and hail warnings and some of the scariest looking clouds I have ever seen in my life. This afternoon I saw some not so pleasant colors on the radar, but I was optimistic that the group ride would be able to skirt around them. On my warm-up ride down Sand Rd. it was sunny and sticky. on the way back I could see some dark clouds approaching from the west, but I still figured that we could avoid most of it.
When I rolled up to the park Brian Eppen was on his rain/winter bike. An old mountain bike with slick tires, fenders, and a top gear of 42-12. Hmm. Rick Hopson was busily checking his blackberry or i-phone and excitedly showing us pictures of the doom that was headed our way. Of course, all we really had to do was look up.
Despite the impending soaking, the group ride was still really large. We rolled out south on old 218 as many riders had pointed out that the Hill's police have been cracking down and shelling out $75 tickets to cyclists who cross the closed bridge over the river. Catching the group ride would make their summer.
On the way out of town the group was light hearted and joking, but I'm sure it was just to cover up the fact that we were all somewhat uncomfortable being there. I personally clung to the silly cliche "safety in numbers." As if a tornado would have any more trouble with 25 riders than it would with 2.
I took my first pull early on the long-ish hill just south of town. The pace was relaxed and steady. But when we crested the hill we could see the crazy storm was just to our right and sprinkles had just started to fall. I don't know who was on the front at that point, but they drilled it. Hard. The group immediately started splitting into gaps. I leap-frogged a few riders and caught up to the second group only to come to the front and realize that I was in the third group. Shit.
I put my head down and pulled us up to the second group and felt better when I saw that the first group only contained 3 people. We caught them when we turned west and crested the overpass. Right as the skies really opened up. The roads had water running everywhere, and the county had just dropped a lot of chunky black tar to seal up some cracks. This all made for some semi-sketchy rotating. I took a few pulls early on, but then I had to sit in, I was worried about getting dropped in the storm and riding in alone.
But as we crested round-barn hill, the skies started to clear up again and I noticed that our group only contained 11 people. We were now riding a hard, but manageable pace as we continued on to Fry Town. When we hit the Turnpike, though, things lit up again. I followed some wheels and witnessed Eppen make one of the craziest jumps to mark an attack I have ever seen. I came over the final big hill at the front and pulled down the descent. After a little jockying for position the the Bikes 2 You boys took off. Adam Price worked to close the gap but couldn't make it (no one takes more pulls on the group rides than Adam Price). Feeling bad for Adam's suffering, I came around as hard as I could and worked to bridge the gap, making sure that Adam was on my wheel. I brought him and a few riders almost all the way there, but it wasn't enough.
It was enough, however, to earn my a hearty Brian Eppen pat on the back approval. And that made it worth it for me. Plus the Bikes 2 You duo had ridden so hard they pretty much just blew up and were never seen from again.
Onto Black Diamond Rd. and we were looking at the back of the storm that had soaked us. We briefly worried about getting wet again, but the storm had no problem pulling away from our rotating paceline that held steady at 29 mph. I hung on and took as many pulls as I could all the way down Rhoret, where I attacked way to early for the sprint. Again it was OK as I finished the ride in a rather select group of 7 and earned another semi-compliment when Jim Cochran twice accused me of doing "secret training."
Nothing secret this time, though. Just consistent riding. And it led to the best group ride I've had since I left Iowa City five years ago. Of course, I didn't "win" anything, and I couldn't ride away from anyone, but maybe if I start implementing some "secret training" I can get there. And hopefully when I do, the weather will be a little bit better.
When I rolled up to the park Brian Eppen was on his rain/winter bike. An old mountain bike with slick tires, fenders, and a top gear of 42-12. Hmm. Rick Hopson was busily checking his blackberry or i-phone and excitedly showing us pictures of the doom that was headed our way. Of course, all we really had to do was look up.
Despite the impending soaking, the group ride was still really large. We rolled out south on old 218 as many riders had pointed out that the Hill's police have been cracking down and shelling out $75 tickets to cyclists who cross the closed bridge over the river. Catching the group ride would make their summer.
On the way out of town the group was light hearted and joking, but I'm sure it was just to cover up the fact that we were all somewhat uncomfortable being there. I personally clung to the silly cliche "safety in numbers." As if a tornado would have any more trouble with 25 riders than it would with 2.
I took my first pull early on the long-ish hill just south of town. The pace was relaxed and steady. But when we crested the hill we could see the crazy storm was just to our right and sprinkles had just started to fall. I don't know who was on the front at that point, but they drilled it. Hard. The group immediately started splitting into gaps. I leap-frogged a few riders and caught up to the second group only to come to the front and realize that I was in the third group. Shit.
I put my head down and pulled us up to the second group and felt better when I saw that the first group only contained 3 people. We caught them when we turned west and crested the overpass. Right as the skies really opened up. The roads had water running everywhere, and the county had just dropped a lot of chunky black tar to seal up some cracks. This all made for some semi-sketchy rotating. I took a few pulls early on, but then I had to sit in, I was worried about getting dropped in the storm and riding in alone.
But as we crested round-barn hill, the skies started to clear up again and I noticed that our group only contained 11 people. We were now riding a hard, but manageable pace as we continued on to Fry Town. When we hit the Turnpike, though, things lit up again. I followed some wheels and witnessed Eppen make one of the craziest jumps to mark an attack I have ever seen. I came over the final big hill at the front and pulled down the descent. After a little jockying for position the the Bikes 2 You boys took off. Adam Price worked to close the gap but couldn't make it (no one takes more pulls on the group rides than Adam Price). Feeling bad for Adam's suffering, I came around as hard as I could and worked to bridge the gap, making sure that Adam was on my wheel. I brought him and a few riders almost all the way there, but it wasn't enough.
It was enough, however, to earn my a hearty Brian Eppen pat on the back approval. And that made it worth it for me. Plus the Bikes 2 You duo had ridden so hard they pretty much just blew up and were never seen from again.
Onto Black Diamond Rd. and we were looking at the back of the storm that had soaked us. We briefly worried about getting wet again, but the storm had no problem pulling away from our rotating paceline that held steady at 29 mph. I hung on and took as many pulls as I could all the way down Rhoret, where I attacked way to early for the sprint. Again it was OK as I finished the ride in a rather select group of 7 and earned another semi-compliment when Jim Cochran twice accused me of doing "secret training."
Nothing secret this time, though. Just consistent riding. And it led to the best group ride I've had since I left Iowa City five years ago. Of course, I didn't "win" anything, and I couldn't ride away from anyone, but maybe if I start implementing some "secret training" I can get there. And hopefully when I do, the weather will be a little bit better.
Monday, July 7, 2008
A Manure Barrel!
While Robin is in sunny, hot, and dry
I explained that I was the novice horse boyfriend trying to work with the experience horse girlfriend’s Paint. She took pity on me and asked if I needed help. I handed her the lead rope. Steen continued to give her a hard time and I didn’t feel so bad. But slowly and patiently she led him up to the door and let him sniff the piece of farm equipment that was sitting near the entrance. A small, insignificant little barrel (compared to a horse) that apparently isn’t always there. That is what freaked Steen out and I didn’t notice it at all.
After that Steen was great. He was still on edge, but he conceded to my slow and clumsy grooming and even picked his feet up before I asked him to. That was rather amazing. I saddled him up and we went into the arena to do some groundwork. After the manure barrel fiasco, I had decided that it would be best not to ride him that afternoon, so we did a lot of walking and trotting exercises. Occasionally Steen would get a little worked up at various noises, but for the most part he was really calm. And when I unsaddled him and took off his lead rope to let him role in the dirt (which he loves), he would only follow me around.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Reconciliation
A few weeks ago the ASO and various teams selecting their Tour de France rosters snubbed all Iowa riders. This was a big blow for many of us dreaming to go. A number of Iowa's top riders have even stopped giving it their all on the group rides as a result. One anonymous rider was quoted saying, "what's the point? I mean, I trained all winter long and I've been doing workouts like 31 repeats on 'the wall' [on Sugar Bottom rd.] to simulate Alpe D'Huez, but now I don't even feel like riding at all." Others could not be reached for comment as they were seen turning around shortly after the start of recent College Green rides.
But other riders kept fighting. Most notably was CSC's super domestique Jason McCartney. When he found out he wasn't going to the Tour, he kept doing the rides and he kept taking his pulls. And at least someone took notice. This morning, USA Cycling announced that Jason McCartney, from Coralville, Iowa, was named to his second Olympic Road race team.
So keep taking your pulls people. They just might get you a trip to the biggest races in the world.
But other riders kept fighting. Most notably was CSC's super domestique Jason McCartney. When he found out he wasn't going to the Tour, he kept doing the rides and he kept taking his pulls. And at least someone took notice. This morning, USA Cycling announced that Jason McCartney, from Coralville, Iowa, was named to his second Olympic Road race team.
So keep taking your pulls people. They just might get you a trip to the biggest races in the world.
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