To blatantly rip off someone's comment on metafilter - I've always loved America, but I've never been as proud of it as I am right now.
Mr. Barack Hussein Obama is going to be the next president of the United States of America. I'm so happy in so many ways. Remember when Clinton got elected the first time? I was living in Seattle, which was only becoming the liberal stronghold it is now, and we were flabbergasted. I don't think I'd ever voted for anyone who'd won before. So there's that nice feeling of victory, but that's the smallest part of what it is.
I was a military brat, and when I was in grade school my dad told me about when he was in the Air Force stationed in Alabama and he marched with Dr. King, even though he was risking courtmartial to do so, and it was clear to me that that's what good people do. When I was older he explained he'd always thought "evolution not revolution" until he saw how things actually were in the Jim Crow south, and even though he was an Air Force pilot and that's all he'd ever wanted to do, it was worth risking that to fix a monumental wrong. That's the kind of idealism I was raised with, and I firmly believe that there's no idealist like a military idealist - those are the people who are actually willing to get shot at for their beliefs. That idealist heart in me is about to burst with pride for what my country has done. (And while we're here, I'd like to point out that Obama is mixed race, which is huge. He's not that much older than me, and when he was born it wasn't legal for his parents to even get married in all 50 states. Which is why I'm bummed about Prop 8 in California, but not devastated.) I grew up being told it was "possible" for a black person to be elected president, but in my head I new that was in the technical sense - and yet we did it in a landslide.
Best of all, Obama, to me, has the real sense of actually being the best person for the job. Meaning, if there were some magical way to do a survey to find the Best Person to be President of the United States, including all the otherwise great convicted shoplifters, people with bad skin, or just folks with the common sense that tells then that running for president would be hellish, I wouldn't be surprised if Obama was selected out of all of them. Yes, he was going to be my candidate no matter what because he wasn't a Republican, and yes, he's a politician so he's bound to break my heart, but I really think he could be one of the greatest presidents this country will see. I'm sure hoping so.
To be honest, I'm surprised we managed to elect someone who can successfully articulate a compound sentence, much less be the most eloquent living public speaker I've heard. We elected someone who is not white, which I thought I would never live to see. In his acceptance speech when he talked about Ann Nixon Cooper, the 106 year old woman* who's father was a slave, who got to vote for him - dude. And if I though I would never see this day... maybe I need to stop being such a cynic, yeah?
We elected someone with an exotic name! (Perhaps we can thank Governor Schwarzenegger for breaking down that barrier.)
We elected someone who his opponent accused of not being Christian, of being a socialist, of being a terrorist... someone who, in his acceptance speech articulated a number of thoughts that would probably make our current president's head explode - can you imagine W saying "there will be setback and false starts"?
I'd really started to believe the press releases - Americans are jingoistic, petty, greedy, self-centered, racist, ignorant, and have never seen a problem they couldn't fix with a bomb. I know people are still people, but now I have hope that we're the average and not the lowest common denominator. And maybe for a while we'll be above average.


* and who looks GREAT for her age, btw

That's what they say, and boy is it the truth. I had intended to blog about how I had finished my first song for NaSoAlMo - but I can't do that. So instead can I just get a big FUCK YOU for Apple, for breaking Garageband when you upgrade to Leopard, and not telling you, and having the only solution be to buy the new version (which I don't have the money for right now)? I had a whole fucking song recorded - guitar, vocals and upright bass, and fucking garageband decided to randomly recopy part of the guitar track all over the place. I have to rerecord the whole fucking thing now. IT WAS ALMOST DONE. I could have finished it tonight.
Seriously - that's fucked up. That's bad customer relations, hearkening back to the system 7.6 days (oh yeah, I'm going there). I mean, I expect that from third-party software (like ProTools LE, which does more stuff but has a pain in the ass reinstall and upgrade everytime you do anything to your system software, which is why I don't use it.) When they upgraded to to OS X you could still run legacy apps, and that was a complete overhaul of the entire operating system from the ground up! But I guess if you're using Apple software, which they have TOTAL CONTROL over, that's harder to deal with not as lucrative.
Apple, your bundled software is great, but not so much if you don't bother to make new OS's work with it, and you also don't fucking tell people that upgrading is going to break things. Did I mention I can't use iDVD now either?
Yes, so let's toast Apple with a nice warm glass of "fuck you you fucking fuckers".

This is a number of different kinds of awesome all at once.

Also, I am astonished at how well breaking and fiddle tunes go together. Dude.

I am a much cooler teenager now than I was when I was a teenager. In the last week the following things have happened:

• Walking in the smelly alley behind work, a young man of probably not more than 19 was loitering (that's a word us old folks like to use) next to his car and complimented me on my hair.
  "I like your mohawk", he said. "Wanna see mine?"
  Then he pulled his hat off to show a grown out green mohawk and asked if mine was "black light active". Twelve years ago I would have had a definite answer to this question, but nowadays I would have to use the black light cat-pee detector to find out. He wanted to know because "I'm a raver, so I think about stuff like that."
  Oh, bless your little raver heart. You're cute - try not to get in trouble waiting in that alley. Your friend looks sleazy. I wouldn't trust him.
• I was walking down Market Street and was forcing my way through the always-crowded area directly between Old Navy and the BART entrance when all of a sudden there was this teenage girl standing in front of me - barely higher than my shoulder and not more than 16, with what I gather are cute clothes although it's hard to tell because she was dressed like it was 1985, and some really nice braids, and she said "I love your mohawk!" and RAISED HER HAND TO ME!!! Which was because she was attempting a high five. Whenever someone tries to high five me that's my reaction. I eventually figured it out and high-fived her back, and I didn't even miss her hand, which was probably just dumb luck.
• As I was walking to my ten year old American made station wagon (because that's how I ride) in the BART parking lot (because that's also how I ride) the other day, there were some grade school aged boys riding their bikes around the lot, in much the same way I would have done if I had lived someplace with paved roads at that age (not kidding - people always think I'm kidding about that, but I'm not). And one of them said as he rode past, "I want a cool mohawk like that!"

SNL is funny! Who knew?

I am tuckered out! I am, in fact, so tuckered out, that I keep mistyping words - but mostly only as other words. So if you see a sentence that doesn't make any sense because there is a wrong word in it - for example, I just typed "I'm tucked pit!" - try switching some letters around or something. Or you can just accept that I'm talking nonsense. That's what most people do.

The Whoreshoes are getting ready to record a new album! Yay! So we spent the whole day recording all 18 of our new songs over the course of 9 hours so we can listen to them and whittle the new album down to maybe 12 or 15 tracks. I am very proud of us - we went in and we knew what we were doing and we just went in and played through a bunch of songs. I'm glad that we're a band that learns songs by doing them live, as opposed to putting them together in the studio. Unless you're a zillionaire and a have a super-awesome studio full of hookers and blow (just kidding dad!) spending all your time in the studio is kind of a major drag. In my opinion. And also I saw that Metallica movie where they were recording their last album, Some Kind Of Monster, and if you watch that movie you will never ever want to be involved in a creative project with another human being again as long as you live. Recording just isn't that fun. In my opinion. Which is correct.

Anyway, thanks to Larry from Rube Waddell (he's the one on the lower left) we were able to just punch out all those songs in one day! I love the twenty first century! Seriously! A mere ten years ago when my punk band did an album we thought we were really fucking lucky (and we were) to know someone who had a 16 track to record us on - direct to tape, of course. Now I could do that in my bedroom - and that's not a metaphor. On top of that, I think that the quality of what we recorded today is at least to that of our first cd, just because we've gotten so much better - well, and were able to listen back to what we played, which, for technical and money reasons we couldn't do the first time around.

I feel like the old geezer extolling the virtues of the horseless carriage, but if you're a musician it's really amazing. Look at it this way - in the last ten years or so we've had an astounding amount of music available to us. And that's on top of the relative wealth of music we've had since the advent of recording (this should warn you that I am geeking out in a big way). So all the kids, including me, have had a whole bunch more music that we can hear and be influenced by - and then you get tasty treats like Garageband (for mac users like myself) and, uh, other things for pc users which I'm sure they also like, and then we all take all that stuff we've heard and turn it into more music! How awesome is that?!? In case you're wondering how awesome that is, I now turn your attention to some bands I like who I think probably wouldn't exist with the crazy access The People now have to recording, like The Avett Brothers (just saw them at Strawberry and - dude. See them. Awesome.), The Shiftless Rounders and The Tallboys, to name a few who I can come up with my current addled state. I guess I like to emphasize this point for people who enjoy music, but who aren't Fans - if you don't spend a certain amount of your time a month these days considering your music delivery system you may be a fan, but you're not A Fan. And that's cool, you're probably thinking about what to feed your kids or how to cure cancer or something important like that, instead of how Conor Oberst (who I also love) is able to put an album every damn month, apparently.

Oh, you're still here? I was chatting with Rabbitch, who is fascinating. Blame it all on her. "It all" being my inability to wrap this post up neatly. Also, I'm tired. It's kind of like asking a boxer what he loves about boxing (they all love boxing*) after a fight. If only there were a phrase for that, when you've been in a fight. And someone's been punching you. And it's almost as if you're inebriated, you're so addled. Fight-addled! That's it! I'm fight-addled! Only with recording! And actually I'm just tired!

Yes, well, anyway. Save your pennies. Eventually there will a new Whoreshoes cd for you to spend them on.

* except Archie Moore, tragically.

Is it so wrong that I want to get home and play my new upright bass? I had bass dreams all night! Okay, yes, I had a class tonight, so I didn't get home until ten, and then I had to drag the bass out to the living room and move the bridge (there's not really enough space in my room to lay it down), because the kid I bought it from thought that moving the bridge would be a good way to lower the action, which technically worked but and even I, rank amateur that I am, could tell that the intonation was all kinds of messed up. So I did that. And then OBVIOUSLY the only reasonable course of action is to put itunes on a country mix and attempt to play along with every song. Which is what I do every night. You would be horrified to learn how many country artists do songs in B or F. (It's because they're commies.) And Kelly Hogan? Well, she's dreamy and all, but she has a whole raftload of songs that contain more than three chords, and I'm just not down with that. She's a commie, too. Still dreamy, but a commie.

As all right-thinking people are aware, Dr. Rachel Maddow's tv show will be premiering on MSNBC tonight right after Countdown with Keith Olberman - it's at 6pm here, but I don't know about you. Just tivo it, or get your friend to do it.
Dr. Maddow's main claim to fame, after being the most spectacularly popular lesbian pundit in the universe, is that she and I used to be housemates. Okay, yes, it was for only about three months, but then she was housemates with my girlfriend so I continued to practically live with her for another year, so that counts dammit! I know her secrets! To think - I knew her when she was mere bachelor, barely of drinking age! I knew her when she had that haircut! Ah, those glorious days of youth! When you lived in a roach infested mission flat with a rapidly rotating cast of housemates - I think I lived with fifteen different people in that apartment in the three years I was there. Yes, fifteen unique free spirits - all of whom should have their own tv shows. If you read my proposals I'm sure you will agree.

• C's show would feature radical carpentry and lighting, which would result in poorly lit guests whose chairs collapse periodically. Afterward C would explain that "lighting" is just The Man keeping you down. Special one hour episode on the story of the glow in the dark fliers wheatpasted to the living room wall, with outtakes on how to paint over glow in the dark wheatpasted posters in your living room.


• N's show consists entirely of bomb threats called into theatres that are showing Saturday Night Fever. If she can't find a theatre showing Saturday Night Fever, she might call your house - watch out!


• M's show would be very like Sprockets only about feminist political theatre. It will have less unitards and probably less dancing. You will only understand 50% of the content, but M will make up for it by being really sweary. M will hit the big time with cult fandom of her recurring character Zombie Shaving Accident Victim and will vanish from the public eye at the height of her fame, reappearing years later as the Philosopher Queen of an idyllic tropical isle whose culture is based on the work of Caryl Churchill and Bertolt Brecht.


• K's show would be like M's show only with giant puppets and not good. Do not touch K's monkey or there will have to be a house meeting about it, plus a discussion of whether you should even be touching someone's monkey without the express approval of the rest of the household and whether it is appropriate for you to even consider touching that monkey when know nothing of the monkey-american struggle since you are not monkey-american yourself. Repeat for thirteen weeks.


• E's show goes after the much-sought-after chickenhawk felon demographic. When the show is canceled it will stay in its time slot for an additional six weeks, but will broadcast from the lobby.


• D's show would be a nonstop calvalcade of art, music, learning and laughter. D would produce two shows a day, along with running a gallery, creating a constant stream of artwork and books and getting lots of sleep. In the exciting first season cliffhanger, D loses his time machine.

Until these and all the other fine space monster superhero related programming I have floating around in my brain are available for your viewing pleasure, don't forget to check out Rachel's show. She is smart, funny and has great politics. If you are not fully satisfied I will gladly refund your wasted time*.

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In keeping with my theme of being as dull as dirt, shall now regale you with tales of my weekend.
I almost went for a bike ride this weekend. I thought about it a lot. It would have been to Tilden Park, a ride that would have replicated much of this ride and, oddly, I decided I'd rather stay in bed. Weird.
And, okay, Saturday wasn't lost. There was band practice, and then meeting the Knitter afterward at Wild Side West for a beer, then getting ice cream at Bi Rite, and then going to see The Dark Knight - FINALLY. I liked it very much, didn't love it. Although I would like to see it in the theatre again. (Part of my lack of wholehearted love is that every time I see Christian Bale's face I think he looks like a younger, handsomer George W. Bush, and then I want to throw a drink in his face. Or something heavier.)
Sunday, though, was a total loss. All I did was turn the compost (I heart my new pitchfork), pick up dog poop from the yard, go grocery shopping, walk dogs, take out trashes and recyclings and make dinner. In other words, chores. Boring, boring chores. That was all I did Sunday. I rewarded myself with a finally seeing the last two eps of season 2.5 of BSG. Do not spoil season three for me*, or I will throw a drink in your face. Or something heavier.

*whenever I complain about BSG spoilers my brother says that I'm too far behind and at this point it's like complaining about someone spoiling M*A*S*H...

...it wasn't a chicken, it was a baby!

Well, hello! You may remember me - I'm lala, I used to blog here sometimes. Back in the day. See, what happened was I did the ride, and then I had all these pictures I felt I should put up, but then things got really busy and there was no way I could possibly do a California bike travelogue with all that was going on, and then things started settling down but going through all those pics would take a lot of time, but then I felt like I needed to do that before I blogged about anything else and anyway I have twitter right and so that's why I haven't written anything in two months.

Also, run on sentences.

I dunno, maybe the ride pictures will happen one of these days, who knows? I've been dividing my time between playing Rock Band and playing real guitar. Well, I was doing that until someone's dog (someone else's dog, mine are sweet little angels of sweetness) chewed up one of my drumsticks. And playing guitar is okay for unlocking songs, and for inspiring me to play real guitar, but it's the drums I really want to play. btw, I am a terrible drummer. This isn't going to change. This is why I want Rock Band drums - I may be a real rock star, but not on drums, so this is where I get to live out my Keith Moon fantasies. I can't wait till there's a gong add-on.
Also, I have been playing real guitar in my quest to become a lounge lizard. Turns out jazz guitar is not an area that really benefits from "happy accidents", which is what I like to call sloppy playing. I was going to record a song last night, but hearing it a couple of times through was... disheartening. Also, fyi, your wifi won't work very well if your computer is under a metal tabletop. Also, if you're using a digidesign box, you WILL need to go online to find out why nothing works (yes, every time), and you won't be able to do that if your computer is under a metal tabletop, and then instead of recording you will be moving your computer to the top of the table and by the time all this is done you will be sweaty and your enthusiasm for Autumn Leaves will have waned. And who says second person narrative doesn't work?!??

So I promise to blog some more, but I do not promise to be interesting.

More Bad Times by Ed's Redeeming Qualities is one of my all-time favorite songs. This is an awesome (albeit lo-fi), and very sweet, cover of it.

I rode my freakin' bike all the way to LA! And boy are my arms tired!
Actually, it's my hands that are tired, which is why this is going to be a short post. But I thought I owed it to you all to say hello, at least. There will be more to come later.
So. I did it. That picture to the left there is me at the halfway point between SF and LA.
I rode my bike all the way from San Francisco to Los Angeles. And I rode every goddamn inch of the way. I really didn't think I could do it - I was sure I would get sagged (support and gear - they pick you up if you're not going to make it in in time for the route to close, or if you're injured), but I didn't! I rode the whole way! Up every hill (some at a whopping three and a half miles an hour), through gusting winds that threatened to blow everyone off the road, and over eroding highways that actually put one of my wheels out of true (which would have meant getting sagged, if not for Aaron, the nice guy who happened to be a bike mechanic who trued my wheel back up enough for me to make it to the next rest stop, which had a "Grease" theme). I actually managed to wake up before six every morning (one of my biggest fears was that I would oversleep), and many days got by on only one cup of coffee a day. I got my first sunburn on my legs ever in my whole life. And I have a tan (The Knitter insists it doesn't make me look old). I went a whole week without hearing any country music (lots of disco, though). I dodged surfboards and car doors on the PCH. And yes, I cut my hair right before the ride, thus ensuring that hardly anyone I had been on training rides with would recognize me, but also that I wouldn't end up with white-people dreads, which would totally have happened and would have been really have been not-okay. It was fun and awesome and exhausting and apparently I have been pedaling in my sleep, which I hear is not conducive to a restful night for some people who aren't me. If you or anyone you know thinks you might want to do the AIDS Lifecycle, I wholeheartedly recommend that you train for it and do it. It is awesome.
I'm really proud of myself for riding the whole way, and for training well even though I didn't want to, but I gotta tell ya, I did it for me. I'm really REALLY proud of the fact that I raised almost five thousand dollars to fight AIDS, and many of you helped with that. So here's a big big thank you to my donors - you go ahead and be proud of your bad self, too, because I couldn't have done it without you!

In, like, 5 hours (and by "like" five hours, I mean almost exactly five hours), I need to wake up and get ready to go to the start of the ride. The Knitter was going to take me (and wake me up) but she's with her mom now - and then my brother was going to take me but he was a butthead and didn't want to wake up that early (like I do), so dear saintly Celia is going to drag her ass out of bed BEFORE the buttcrack of dawn to take me to the Cow Palace to start the ride. Tomorrow we'll ride to Santa Cruz, which is an obviously absurd thing to do. Then I believe the plan is to keep doing similarly ridiculous things until we reach Los Angeles, the ridiculous epicenter of California.

Clearly I should already be asleep right now, but it turns out it's hard to fit a whole sleeping bag into a suitcase, and packing took a lot longer than I thought it would. But before I go to sleep, I leave you with this:

Top Five Songs I Have Had Stuck In My Head On Training Rides

• Brazil performed by Django Reinhardt - this started because on one ride we rode past Brazil House. Since then I've gotten it on every ride. Not so bad, actually. Makes me want to see Brazil again.
• We Love Deze Hoez by OutKast - this is a great song, but the problem is I'm always compelled to sing the words out loud. "If you don't love 'em, we know you like deze hoes a whole lot/ like Sunday mama cooking turkey necks in da pot". I can relate to this, because I still have love for the streets. Oddly, this almost always alternates with Brazil, like a really lame mashup.
• Honeymoon Song by Banjo and Sullivan - Banjo and Sullivan is really my secret boyfriend Jesse Dayton. This is a really really dirty song that doesn't sound like a it's dirty at all until you listen to the words. I have other Jesse Dayton songs I'd rather have stuck in my head, but I can live with this one.
• Hotel California by the Eagles - not okay. NOT OKAY. It is not okay to have this song stuck in your head. No. If I ride my bike off a cliff (god forbid, this week has been bad enough as it is) you'll know why.
• top secret new song that will be by the Whoreshoes - I actually got one of my own songs stuck in my head and didn't hate it. Weird. But good.

Also, I've listened to the incredibly wonderful and awesome Lupe Fiasco in the car on the way after almost every ride. He makes me happy.

Wish me luck!

I believe I may have sufficiently recovered from my big ride on Sunday, five days ago, to tell the tale. Yes, dear readers, I rode my my bike 100 miles, all in a row, all on one day. It's true! And lived to tell the tale.

Okay, first, it was another "get up at 5am" day, which I was weirdly grateful for, because the weather's been hot (last weekend, when we rode up Mt. Diablo, it was freezing), and there's so much less traffic. It was merely slightly chilly Sunday morning at 6:30, which did not bode well for the climate the rest of the day. It was really freakin' hot here last week, but it cooled off for the weekend... somewhat. (We're a little spoiled in the Bay Area - we can wear our handknit wool sweaters pretty much year round, and we enjoy mild weather in the 70's most of the summer. Me? I grew up in places that actually have weather, so I'm ready for anything, as long as it doesn't involve being cold.) I wanted it to be a tad bit cooler than it actually was, so I had on my knee warmers and kept the removable sleeves on my jacket (wearing more clothes lowers the tempurature - didn't you know that?). I love my jacket, by the way. It's my neon green Cloak of Visibility, and it has about a million pockets. I love pockets. Really. I LOVE POCKETS. My pockets are always full, and if I have more pockets I get to put more stuff in them. If they're big I can put a book in them! I'm getting spoiled wearing these bike jerseys that have pockets on the back - I want pockets on the back of all my shirts now! I think this maybe actually be worse fashion choice than when I decided I would start wearing a fanny pack, but I am powerless to resist the lure of pockets...
Bike ride? What? Oh yes, that. We started off doing the Three Bears, which I hated while I was on them, and then when I was done thought "that was nice", just like last weekend. It's about a ten mile ride before you get to the hills, and I remember imagining myself telling someone later about the day's ride, and I was saying "I rode, like, a hundred miles!" and then I realized that I wasn't going to ride LIKE a hundred miles - I was going to ride A Hundred Miles! Imagine my surprise!
I peeled off my sleeves within half an hour of rolling out, and that was a bad sign, because I have a high tolerance for heat, and if I'm getting hot, it's hot. So we finished up the bears, and stopped for coffee and refueling, then continues on the remaining 80 miles of the route. "It's the flattest 80 mile ride you can do in the East Bay", said the ride leader. Flat. He keeps using that word. I do not think it means what he thinks it means. The flattest route in the east bay includes Hillgrade Avenue, which is a hateful short little hill which I hate, which kicked my ass the first couple of times I rode it - but now I merely hate it. Here's a tip - if you are on a bike ride, avoid streets with names like Hillgrade. Or anything with "hill" in it. Same goes for "mont" and "crest". "Canyon" and "valley" are also questionable, because where there are low places, they usually include high places for comparison. Any streets with "peak" or "sky" in the name are right out.
A big chunk of the ride was the same route as No Zebra Day, only we went all the way out to Sunol (everyone's favorite Census Designated Place) this time. I have ridden to Sunol before, and I remember that as a lovely ride, but that was probably because it wasn't ONE HUNDRED AND ELEVEN DEGREES on the road. I shit you not. Our support car had a thermometer that said it was 95 degrees, but one of the riders had a bike computer with a thermometer that showed the temperature on the actual (black, heat absorbing) road, and her thermometer had a high of a hundred and eleven degrees. And dude, I believe it. It was freakin' hot. Did I mention I have a high tolerance for heat? Even when I'm exercising (provided it's a reasonable, and breeze producing, exercise like cycling. Only mad dogs and Englishmen would run in that heat). When I'm in Boise, where it's very hot and very dry in the summer, sometimes I get into the car when it's been sitting out in the parking lot in the sun, and I'll just sit there for a minute before I roll down a window - it's a free sauna! I like heat.
I did not like heat that day, though. Coming back from Sunol I was chugging water and electrolyte drink as fast as I could without giving myself a cramp, and wondering if I had heat stroke. At one point I was approaching this absolutely terrifying intersection - six lanes of traffic, turn lanes all over the place, freeway on and off ramps - and I just looked at it and thought "I'm never going to make it through there by myself". So I decided to wait and see if another rider showed up behind me so we could go through together and be a little more visible. Naturally, the nearest intersection had no shade, so I rested in the shade of a lamp post the width of my head - and apparently that was just the right thing to do, because once I got rolling again I felt much better. That was at around mile 60.
The rest of the ride was pretty uneventful. At the next rest stop the partner of one of the riders, an eighty five year old on a recumbent, who did in fact finish the ride (yay!), brought popsicles. That was definitely the best popsicle I've had since I was at least about 10. Much of the remaining miles were on a bike path, which was blessedly boring. I did manage to make my 100 miles ride into a 103 mile ride with a wrong turn at the end - and thank goodness I noticed that weird Chinese restaurant was on the same side of the road as it had been that morning, or it could have been 200 mile ride for me that day.

At about mile 95 I was wondering who's bright idea this was, but really - it wasn't that big a deal. Riding up Mt. Diablo was much, much harder - I feel that I have confirmed my suspicion that, while hills KILL me, I can pretty much keep riding for as long as you want me to (or eleven hours including breaks, in this case). I could still walk and stuff when I was done, unlike last weekend. I discovered at around 2 that my sunscreen was NOT 45 spf, it was 30 spf (reading is fundamental, kids!) so I had a little sunburn again. Now I have a deep tan, and an unfortunate tan line right across my nice cowgirl tattoo. I did not fall down on this ride at all, in spite of getting pretty damn tired. (I actually spent a good twenty minutes one night on the trainer one night just clipping and unclipping my shoes, which seemed to help.) I did not bonk. I did not get heat stroke. I think I am ready for the ride. Or at least one day of it. I don't know how I'm going to do that 7 days in a row, but they say it can be done. Ack! It's only a week away! I'm not packed! Ack!

You should listen to this whilst you read this post. Not that it has anything to do with anything, but you will enjoy it.

I'm just gonna go back and reiterate my thanks to all you knitters and other people who don't knit who donated for me to do the AIDS ride. I was never all that stressed out about fundraising - I've done canvassing and phone sales before, so I know I can ask people for money - but it was really great not having any worries at all about it. I may be the third slowest rider on every single ride I'm on, but I exceeded my fundraising goal! I kind of took it for granted until my training ride this past sunday when they were asking folks how their fundraising was going, and I realized that a lot of people don't meet their minimum until the very last minute, or have to cover it themselves (which I'm not in a position to do). So all ya'all are awesome, and thanks.

So I was going to blog about my ride on Sunday, but The Knitter beat me to it, bless her heart. So I won't tell you about how I rode UP A FREAKING MOUNTAIN!!!ZOMGWTFBBQ?!??!!! And then I heard the sweetest words in the English language - "There is nothing on the ride that hard." I've heard those words before. They make me so very happy. Do you remember the day I fell down twice, once on each side, and couldn't move the next day? They told me there wasn't a day on the ride as hard as that (in addition to there being no mandatory falling-down days that I'm aware of, we also rode every damn hill in the East Bay that day, because we are fools), and other than maybe "Your dog got a really good job and will be buying her own canned prescription food, finally", they were the best thing they could have told me. Oh, and did I mention that the ride on Sunday was 89 MOTHERFUCKING MILES? They weren't regular miles, definitely - they were MOTHERFUCKING MILES. It's funny how the first 35 miles, which included climbing Mt Diablo (which I almost called Mr. Diablo and I kind of like that - it's collegial) were just the regular kind of miles, and then the remaining 55 miles seemed like regular miles but when you put them together, well they're obviously MOTHERFUCKING MILES. Perhaps I will one day consult a mathematician, or a geographer, for some clarity on this, but the phenomenon is obvious and observable, and may be my ticket to a Nobel Prize of some sort.
Also, on Saturday I did a shorter ride with my favorite Saturday group that went over some hills I had been dreading for months - The Three Bears. They sound scary, do they not? Also Pig Farm Hill. I woke up Saturday morning feeling queasy - I'd had a show the night before but it wasn't that late and I was tired so I had no trouble getting to bed at a reasonable hour, but I woke up feeling distinctly off. However, due to planned and unplanned circumstances, I missed two weekends of riding in a row and I WAS FREAKING OUT, so unless my eyes were actually bleeding I was going to make it to that damn ride, and I ate what I could and got out the door. Pig Farm Hill was the first hill, and I coaxed myself to the top my promising myself that when I got there I could throw up if I needed to. I do that sort of thing all the time, and in fact, did it when we got to the top of Mama Bear. There was an outhouse at the top of the hill that you could see the whole way up, and I told myself I was going to take a break when I got to it, and I did. Another rider suggested going another 30 feet to stop in the shade, but I said that was deal I'd made with myself and that was what I was going to do. (Bargaining - it's one of the stages of grief. As in "good grief, what the hell am I doing on this hill?"). I ended up having a couple of ginger snaps, which I really did NOT want to eat, but they settled my stomach and felt magically somewhat better. Not 100%, but not like I might hurl at any second. I think I was fighting off a bug of some sort. Anywho, the picture to the left here is what I look like when I'm trying to decide whether or not I'm gonna yack. Which is to say, imagine how great I look normally, and in normal pants!
I finally embraced the inevitable and got some funny pants to wear while I ride my bike. Sure makes that hard seat more comfortable - although I still think dickies are fine for rides under 50 miles. But after falling on the inhaler in my pocket I questioned the wisdom of, you know, pockets. What if my pockets had been full of, I don't know, glass? Or kittens? It could have been a disaster! A messy, messy disaster. I also think there's something to be said for having a whole subsection of clothes that have the same special washing instructions - it works for my rhinestone studded antique gabardine western shirts, why not athletic clothes?
I ended up finishing the three bears ride fit as a fiddle and ready for love, as they say. I regret having been so scared of those particular hills, because that was one of the most pleasant ride I've been on, other than the wanting to yak, and that wasn't because of the hills. It was pretty, the roads were smooth, there was little traffic - what's not to like? Also - and I can't believe I'm about to say this - I can totally endorse the 7am rideout time that we did for the 89 mile ride on Sunday. Not that I like getting up that early (it really doesn't agree with me, and I have a genuine problem eating enough that early in the morning) but it was great being on the road with hardly any cars. Mt. Diablo was great (in a Bataan death march kind of way) because it was really foggy (and freaking cold!) on the way up, and there was hardly any auto traffic, and then at about 2500 ft. you break through the fog and it was sunny and warmer, and then at about 3000 ft. it was actually hot. And then going down the hill the fog had burned off (one of the benefits of being really slow, apparently) and EVERYTHING LOOKED DIFFERENT. It was like going back by a whole different route. Or planet. On the way up it was misty california bay area, and on the way down - MARS.

THREE THINGS

1. I believe I've mentioned that I'm slow. You may be wanting to encourage me, maybe by saying something like "you're not so slow". The Knitter tried that for a while. But in fact, I am slow. I chalk some of it up to just plain laziness, but I think a lot of it is that most of my cycling career has been as an urban cyclist, and that's not an area where it pays to be in a big hurry. I noticed I rode a lot faster at 7am when no one was on the road. 8 mph is just fine if you're riding in city traffic, as far as I'm concerned. And I bet you didn't even know you could ride at 4 mph, especially not for, say, 7 miles, up a mountain. So there.
2. Confession time - you will never meet anyone who is a big of a sunscreen fascist as I am. On the one hand, I've only ever had about three sunburns in my adult life, and none as a child. I am not generally prone to sunburn. On the other hand, one of my favorite people on earth died of skin cancer, which I oppose. But I purposely didn't put sunscreen on for the climb to the top of Mt. Diablo. I don't want my first sunburn in nearly 20 years to be DURING the ride. There's a real high possibility of suckage in that. So I got a little bit pink on my upper arms and the outside of my upper arms and the outside of my upper calves. No I don't get it either. I think I must have sweated off the sunscreen there. Sunburns itch after a day or two - did you know that? I didn't. Wear your sunscreen!
3. This has nothing to do with the ride, except that I realized it on a training ride. For years I've thought that I have a hard time talking to people I don't know. This is not true. I'm actually great at talking to strangers - unless I think I need to remember their names. Then I'm doomed and miserable. So I heretofore vow not to pressure myself to remember people's names (especially since I can usually recall the details of any interesting conversation I may have had). Therefore, if I meet you for the third time and can't remember your name, you're just going to have to suck it up. I'm paying attention, I just have a tiny brain part that holds names. I might get this printed on cards.

Good lord people! You! With your donations! I'm honored that so many people who I've never met and who I probably will never meet (andifidoiwillneverrememberyournamessopleasedontbeoffendednoimtotallyserious)* saw fit to support me, and people with AIDS, on this ride, which is one hundred and fifty gajiliion miles from SF to LA. Within 6 hours of Rachael and me blogging about it I exceeded my minimum donation and within 8 hours I exceeded my goal (which I set higher than my minimum mostly because of a large early donation that guilted me into keeping on with the keeping on, and you know who you are, and you are awesome). I just this second had the idea that I'm gonna wrap some yarn around my handlebars next my the image of Avilokiteshvara, the buddha of Compassion (who I taped my my stem** when I realized that my stem wasn't particularly inspirational to stare at whilst climbing hills) to remind me about all the people who are supporting me on this ride. I stared at that empty space long enough to know that I wanted something to encourage me - that yarn is going to do just fine.

So, that said - on the off-chance you aren't broke yet, please consider donating to support the people in Myanmar (Burma) instead. I wouldn't usually bring up this sort of thing, but Myanmar is a special case since there are very real concerns that aid that goes there won't end up helping individuals in need. Fortunately, a member of metafilter was able to suggest some agencies that have been operating there (pre-cyclone) and will be able to distribute aid. These organizations include groups like Doctors Without Borders, which is a pretty reliably good cause. If you were on the fence about donating, or were putting it off until payday (dude, I feel you) please donate to one of those organizations. This is part of my groovy "we are all interconnected" thing, but I'm not planning to turn my blog into a nonstop donation platform or anything. (For one thing, that's not normally very funny. If a giant clown attacks Akron, that would be pretty damn funny, but until then...)

Also, if you would like more info about Myanmar in general, this episode of Speaking Of Faith is a great introduction.


* that's gonna make one really fucked up line with no breaks. my inner designer reels.

** not the actual buddha, of course. I can't afford that kind of tape. And it would take so much of it - all those arms!!!

So, as you know, I've been training for AIDS/Lifecycle 7, which coincides with my 40th birthday, since October. At this point I'm spending about 15 hours a week training. Many of my friends haven't seen me in months, and know they won't see me again until after the ride. If I'm not at work or at band practice I'm usually on or near the bike, or resting in preparation for a ride. Or eating - all this exercise results in a lot of eating. Good god am I tired of eating.

In the six months since I started training I've given a lot of thought to what I'm doing, and how it is that I can even attempt this. There's a lot of support. Every weekend volunteers come out to plan routes (crazy crazy routes with hills and traffic and no zebras!), be ride leaders and help us get ready for The Ride (or in some cases, overcome our fear of hills). We have training buddies and the support of other riders to encourage us newbies. On The Ride there are almost as many roadies as riders - folks who get up early and stay up late to plan routes, get permits, prepare food, help us bed down at night and get up in the morning, fix flat tires and cheer us in.

Now, another thing that you readers know happened over the last six months was finding Bart. (Have faith, I'm going somewhere with this.) There were so many people who were willing to make an effort on behalf of that dog - the people who first saw him in the road and stopped for him, the other person who helped me take him to the SPCA, and of course all the people who worked hard there to save him and rehabilitate him. People keep trying to pat me on the back for that, but he wouldn't have made it if it had been just me there that day - and I think we can all agree that we're glad he made it.

So I don't usually think of myself as a team player. (I loathe team sports. In fact, I never had any interest in sports at all until I discovered kickboxing - at last a sport where you clobber the other guy! Perfect!) But I, in my usual late-to-the-party way, I have had a realization. It takes a... hmm, what's the word? Collective? Apartment building? Flash mob? Gang? That's it! It takes a gang to, uh, enable me to ride my bike to Los Angeles! And it takes a gang to save dogs! And have dance-fights! Honestly, since I've been training I've realized how privileged I am to be able to be part of this event and have the kind of support I've been getting, and it's really opened my eyes to how much we all rely on each other all the time. Not to get all cosmic on you, but dude, we're all interconnected! I've gotten some really good real life illustrations of it lately.

Which brings me to what a good cause this is for. (For some reason all the templates they give us for fundraising have us saying we're riding for AIDS, but I tell you what, I'm riding AGAINST it. I'm taking a stand, and I am totally against AIDS.) These days it's possible to live a long time with HIV, but it's not necessarily easy to do so and it's a lot easier with some help. I know firsthand from living with someone who had a serious illness that it is a lot of work being sick. Providing support for people with AIDS isn't just searching for a cure, but helping those who are living with the disease now. Since I started training I've really focussed my thoughts on how my contribution is helping people living with HIV get on with their day to day lives. The San Francisco AIDS Foundation, who are the beneficiaries of all this fundraising we've been doing, helps folks manage their health and and treatment to maintain their quality of life. They also do HIV testing, counseling and medical care, help people get benefits, rental subsidies and provide information and do outreach to prevent the transmission of AIDS. What I'm keeping in the forefront of my mind is that the money I raise is going to be put to use immediately to directly help someone living with HIV/AIDS live a more healthy and dignified life. It's gotten me up more than one tough hill, let me tell you.

So I've promised you begging*, and the time has come. I've been training for months to RIDE MY FREAKIN' BIKE TO LOS ANGELES. I'm not asking you to train with me (unless you have a tandem and good strong legs). I would like you to join my gang (I'm looking into matching satin jackets) in my commitment to make a difference. Now's your chance! Donate a hundred bux (there's a handy payment plan)! Or ten dollars! Or one dollar - any amount is awesome. Okay, a hundred bucks is a little awesomer, but one dollar is way awesomer than no dollars. Seriously - I mean, think about Bart, and those people who stopped when they saw him in the road - they saved that dogs' life just as much as I did, even though they were only there for a few minutes. I'm asking for your donation of any size at all to support me in this ride, and to support people living with HIV right now. Every donation of any size is from someone who is helping people with living HIV/AIDS.

Make a donation here!


*Actually, it's a little not-begging, because The Knitter insisted that she be allowed to raffle off some handknit socks. (I'm totally not kidding, she insisted.) (And btw if you already made a donation I thank you, and of course you get added to the raffle.) But we're not focussing on those nice, warm, luxurious hand knit socks right now.

I like cycling because it's the only time it's okay to wear black socks with shorts. Also, you can wear your underwear proudly on the outside.

What could be nerdier than falling off your bike? How about falling off your bike and landing on your inhaler? Is there any way to make that more dorky? I could have done it at a science fair.

I'm going to go tend to the large inhaler shaped welt on my leg now, thanks.