Author: kennettron

He re-strung his worn Aasic after tying a knot in the ripped lace. Both laces had many of these repair knots tied in them. The shoe itself was brown from months spent running on the muddy trails near his home.

Heavy fog poured from his mouth and nose as his warm breath hit the frigid, early-morning air. He was sitting up in his sleeping bag in a tent out in his friend’s backyard. Money was short, so the old, cramped tent was what he called home. Even in the dead of winter.

After pulling on tights and a hooded sweatshirt, the runner squirmed out of his damp sleeping bag, happy to be up and moving after a cold, wet night spent on a worn-out sleeping mat. He put on his shoes. His knees creaked as his gaunt frame crouched and ducked under the short tent door. He emerged on the other side, feet planted in the muddy grass. The night storm had passed. The runner now looked up into a patchy clear sky dotted with faint stars.

The brown earth squished under his brown shoes as he walked to his still-sleeping friend’s back deck. The hot tub’s motor was on, heating up in case his friend decided he needed a wake-up dip before driving to work.

The runner entered through a French doorway. Smudge marks on the glass near the handle marked the runner’s repeated entries over the past months. Warm air blasted from a heater vent by the runner’s feet. He closed the door quietly behind him and took off his muddy shoes before walking into the kitchen. The runner had his own cabinet, with his own food in it. He opened his cabinet and took out an almost empty jar of oats. Rationing the remaining grains, the runner poured a small bowl-full and popped it in the microwave.

The steaming oats went down his throat into his empty stomach in a few spoonfuls. He washed the meager meal down with a few gulps from the sink faucet, and crept back to the back porch door. He tied his shoes. A hole in the side of his shoe revealed another hole in his wool sock where his toe was poking through. This was the third day in a row that he had forgotten to take care of the sock. Too late now. He opened the glass door and stepped back out into the dark.
It always hurt in the beginning. The first ten minutes pounding on the cement jolted his knees. His cold hamstrings were tight, stiff as frozen taffy. But after a mile or two, he began feeling more comfortable. Strides grew more fluid and his pace quickened as he ran downhill toward the riverside.

The street lamps were still on, lighting a dim path before him. A few cars passed, spitting cold, dirty spray to the shoulder of the road and onto the runner’s dirty shoes. He didn’t mind, he continued on.
Six miles later, he reached the river trail. By now a glow from the eastern horizon lit up the muddy trail just enough for the runner to avoid the biggest roots. He jumped over trees, fallen from the storm. He flew around the bends of the single-track trail, up and down small rises and dips as easy as the river flowed silently beside him. The path escorted him farther into the depths of the evergreen forest.

The trail began to fade as he went farther. It turned away from the riverbank and began climbing uphill. A few minutes later, the trail ended, but the runner continued. He followed his footsteps from the morning before. Wet pine needles flew out behind him, spit out from his shoes as he turned the pace up another notch. The hill continued to grow steeper. The mud grew slicker and the underbrush thicker. Brambles grabbed at his legs while he ducked under tree branches.
The runner began gasping for air and his legs filled with lactic acid as the gradient shot up and up. His feet slipped out from under him and he landed on all fours. He was nearing the top of the hill. On hands and feet, he scrambled up the wet, muddy slope. The road was a hundred meters farther up the hill. Cars cruised on the pavement with ease while the runner’s lungs wheezed as he climbed to the top.

Back on the pavement, the runner did not stop or slow. He got back up to speed and his breathing returned to its normal rhythmic pulse. Mud covered his entire body. It squished between his toes let in through his shoe’s many holes.

The street lamps turned off as the morning came, but thick clouds had been forming over the past hour. The sky remained dim. The runner did not take notice, he continued to run.
Faint drops of cold water fell on his shoulders. They soon turned big and heavy. The runner’s shoes slapped on the wet pavement. His steamy breath shot out like a hot kettle’s. The rain came pouring now. No wind meant it came straight down in curtains of liquid. It was thick and cold, but the runner persisted without distraction. He turned off the road onto a small trail to his right. He splashed through deep puddles. His arms swung smoothly and his legs glided over the trail like a gazelle’s. The rain beat on the forested canopy above him. His shoulders brushed wet leaves as the trail narrowed and the vegetation closed in on him.

The trail ended and he burst through the dark hole of the forest and back to the civilization of pavement. He crossed over to the left side of the road. The rain persisted. It began washing the mud from his shoes and tights. His legs were burning and a cramp in his side told him to slow. He did not. He was a mile from home now and he turned the pace up as he ran along the dark country road. His mouth hung open, his vision began to blur just slightly as he dug into the last of his will power.

A sleeping driver’s head nodded behind the wheel. The car crossed the double yellow lines. It hit him at 40 miles per hour and sent him flying from the road. The driver woke with a start, realizing what had happened, and melted rubber on pavement while fleeing the scene.
The runner lay in a ditch off the side of the road, face up. His back was broken and his ribs were protruding into his lungs. Blood came from his mouth. No houses were nearby. Raindrops, released thousands of feet up in the sky, bolted down to earth, stinging his face and plopping loudly in the brown puddle he lay in. He couldn’t move or make a sound other than a faint gurgling as his blood bubbled from his mouth. He died in silent agony, in the mud. Just remember, if McCain wins: shit happens.

Taking a nap after a ride

Lying here on the couch with a stomach full of pancakes and chocolate milk.
The window next to me lets in the gloomy sight of an overcast sky, pissing intermittently onto a canopy of shingles and dangling orange and yellow leaves.
My legs are heavy and sore from the first week of jumping, lifting, and riding.
A gray cat, unaware of me watching behind the glass wall, creeps up into the lawn and takes a dump on the grass—still brown from a summer of heat.
I listen to the crackling of the fire and the sound of Pumpkins Smashing as I lie on the couch from decades past.
The candidates are arguing, the Iraqis are dying, and the hot dog vendors are seeing their breath for the first time in months.
Sheryl Crow is constantly telling me to soak up the sun but no rays can be found.
I’m homeless and my minimum wage paycheck is weeks late.
The stolen bike is sitting in a meth lab, restless like an un-ridden horse.
The fire continues to pop and the songs change.
My cell phone rings but I don’t pick it up because my stiff legs are happy to sleep.
They lay motionless on the gray cushions, blood pulsing down to the damaged muscle.
Throbbing and comfortable as my heart rate beats slower and slower.
Eyelids are gaining weight and gravity begins to pull.
The small room is warm.
The rain thickens outside.
A blue jay sits on the telephone wire holding a nut for the long winter ahead.
The jay swoops down to the ground to break open his lunch.
The journalist hopes for disaster, but the gray cat is gone.
Blue and purple flowers wilt and fade.
The gray cat walks past on the sidewalk, a dead rodent in mouth.
I can see eight parked cars, two mobile homes, and thousands of pounds of cement laid out on the ground from where I lay.
I am in a suburb.
I don’t see any people.
I don’t care because.
My steed lies against the wall, mud drying and water dripping in puddles from his brilliant orange coat.
My wet cycling gear is lying in front of the fire.
The room smells of peanut butter and spices.
My head sinks further into the pillow.
The battlefield is finally at peace.
There is much to be rebuilt.
Amino acids and HGH rush in to save the day.
The cat carelessly leaves the dead mouse under a car.
A new pig sets up his office.
The Iraqis continue to burn alive, their charred skin blistering and popping in the flames of petroleum terrorism.
The coals cool in the solemn stove.
My eyes close.
Mind clearing.
I sleep and rebuild.

The Art of Procrastination: How to avoid the worst four chores

The trash needs to be taken out, the dishes need to be cleaned and put away, you’re in dire need of some new t-shirts, and your friends are beginning to comment on the odor of your favorite pair of jeans.  Sounds like you’

ve got a lot of chores to do, right?  Wrong.  Wrong because there is a much simpler, hassle-free, and time-efficient solution to your problems than you think.  Procrastination.  You already do it, and it always seems to get the job done.  So why not embrace it?  Follow these simple guidelines to put off the four most tedious things that have to be done, but not really.

Taking Out The Trash. 

Taking out the trash may seem like an easy chore.  All you have to do is drag it to the dumpster or to the street a couple times a week.  By description it sounds easy, but of course we all know that it most certainly is not, especially during “build-up”episodes.

On occasion, the trash may slowly and steadily build up to a monumental mess.  Be it from constant forgetfulness of which day the garbage truck comes or pure and simple laziness, it is an inevitable event.  When the trash stacks up like this, it will require making more than one trip, which is definitely leading into the zone of work.  And this type of work deserves to be put off.  For a long, long time.

The first step to living in a house full of trash is to find a place to store it.  You don’t have to go out and buy a bunch of new trash containers, because that would require way too much effort.  Instead, start saving up grocery bags and spare cardboard boxes.  These can be strategically placed throughout your abode in various corners and hallways, on top of chairs and counters, or hanging from drawer handles and coat racks.

The second step is easy.  Buy a spray bottle of air freshener.  That pretty much sums it up.  Anything else would be too much work.  You are now free to take out the trash once every other month or so.

Doing The Dishes. 

When your house is full of trash, the incentive to keep the counters and sink clean and clear of dishes goes completely out the window–which should be left open as much as possible.  Not taking out the trash had two steps to it and because of that it can cause some confusion.  But not to worry, not doing the dishes is foolproof.  Fill the sink part way full of soapy water and pile the plates and cups in high.  This is called “letting the bowls soak,” and it works quite well–the term that is, not the actually method of cleaning the dishes.   You will soon run out of clean dishes, which leads to two outcomes: you will eat more food directly out of the fridge and pantry, cooked or uncooked, and you will begin to use the less dirty dishes over and over again.  This may sound slightly unsanitary, but it’s a price you should be willing to pay for not ever having to do the dishes.  EVER.

Shopping For Clothes. 

Very few men enjoy taking the trip to the mall to pick out new clothes.  We all like the idea of getting a new coat or pair of jeans.  But it’s the process that most of us could go without.  It is boring, noting fits right, they don’t sell your favorite kind of socks anymore, and everything is overpriced.  The only good thing about going shopping for clothes is the moment of relief when you exit the store. 

There are two great ways to avoid making that death march to Macy’s.  The first is hitting up your siblings and friends.  They won’t notice the odd missing shirt or pair of underwear.  Next time you’re over at their house, meander your way past their dresser or laundry pile and snag an item.  But don’t steal their favorite hat or pair of jeans.  Only take something that you know they won’t miss too much.  Also, don’t make the mistake of kicking it with your friend Chad while wearing one of his t-shirts.

The second tip to putting off clothes shopping is to keep a bag of your old clothes stored away in a closet somewhere–yes, I know this takes foresight and planning, but it’s better than wasting your Saturday listening to elevator music in a fitting room.  Once or twice a year, take out that bag of old clothes and reunite them with your dresser.  Then, from your dresser, take out an equal amount of clothes you currently use and put them in the bag.  Place the bag back in the closet for another six months.  Repeat when needed.  You’ll save money and people will think you’re cool for wearing such “vintage” clothing.

Doing Laundry.

The average guy can go for about a week and wear clean clothes each day.  After that, he will need to start re-wearing dirty clothes.  This is not a problem, because usually clothes don’t start showing signs of dirtiness after the first use.  But by the end of the third week, things can start to get smelly and stained.

To deal with the stench of those mildewing and B.O. ridden shirts composting on the floor of your messy home, the solution is quite simple.  You already bought that air freshener for all the trash bags littering your house, so why not put it to another good use?  Before you know it, girls will be commenting on how good you always seem to smell.  Little do they know, your new cologne is no more than a cheap bottle of Febreze. 

As for the food, dirt, and sweat stains covering your shirts, a good direction to go is to start layering.  Investing in a cheap vest is a good start.  Also, wearing shirts inside out doubles their life.  And dark clothes don’t show dirt as much as light colored clothes, so the next time you visit Chad, make sure to grab a couple of his black t-shirts. 

Get to it.  You’ve got a lot of stuff to not do and a lot of time to not do it.

 

 

Are you tired of buying and cooking your own dinner?  Are high fuel prices wreaking havoc on your wallet?  Are rent, cable, and internet bills adding up to unbearable amounts?  Well then, I’ve got the solution to all your problems.

 

Here is all the information you need on how to become a professional moocher.  But first thing’s first, there is a difference between a moocher and being cheap.  No one likes a cheapskate.  On the other hand, everyone wants to lend a hand to the mooch.  That right there is the key.  A cheapskate has the means to buy their own stuff, and is just being cheap.  They appear snobby and stuck up.  A mooch is much different. 

 

The first step to living off the fat of your hommies is to know a lot of people.  Don’t leach off someone for too long.  If you plan things correctly, you won’t burn a single bridge in your plight for food and shelter.  People will want you to come back for another visit.  Remember, you need to be everyone’s friend.  You never know where your next meal may come from. 

 

 “Oh you’re making steaks tonight?  I’ll bring the salt.”

 

Here is the moocher’s number one favorite arena of battle: dinner.  Dinner at a friend’s house is easy.  Some may not even consider it mooching.  But if you plan things out in advance, you can go for days eating at your pals’ table. 

 

Offer to bring something.  It can be trivial to the meal, but make sure you contribute.  A side dish made of left-overs, a half eaten bag of chips, a salad with tons of spinach.  The more obscure the better.  The key is to not let these things be eaten.  Make a spicy dish or something weird tasting.  That way you can take it home and re-use the dish at someone else’s house the next night. 

 

Getting a ride somewhere.

 

This one’s easy.  If the ride is long, offer to pay for a coffee and gas and you’re golden.  Keep up good conversation during the trip and the driver will be glad to have you back.

 

Doing small favors.

This right here is the key to mooching.  Take all the opportunities to help someone out and they’ll be more than happy to return the favor.  Lend someone a hand moving their furniture.  Help them fix up their bike.  Lend a sweatshirt.  Take their girlfriend on a date.  Do small errands and the rewards will flow in like the water that rushes down the gutter in November when all the storm drains are clogged with leaves. 

 

Couch Surfing.

 

This is much more difficult than any of the other areas of mooching.  Only attempt this when you’re comfortable with the other categories of mooching first.  It usually takes years of practice before a successful bout of couch surfing comes to you. 

 

The best way to find a place to sleep is to go straight for it.  Just ask.  Don’t dodge the question or act coy.  And let your friend know that it won’t be for long.  A couch surfer is fun to have; think of it like an extended sleep over back when you were a kid.   Everything goes smoothly and both you and your buddy are having a great time at first.  And then you start to get tired of each other and eventually someone gets hurt when your wrestling on the trampoline.  Before long, all hell breaks loose and you’re both in a time out.  Everyone enjoys a couch surfer, but no one likes a couch bum.  Get in and get out.  Nothing much longer than a week.  If need be, come back and crash on their couch after an extended absence.

 

When couch surfing, make sure you have plenty of other options for places to sleep in case your #1 choice goes belly up.  Always plan out your next two or three couches weeks in advance. 

 

Other tips:  You may be sleeping at their house, but you don’t need to spend all your time there.  The more you hang out there, the bigger mess you’ll make, the more empty their fridge will get, and the more annoyed your host will be.  Be socialable and hang out, but find other places to spend the majority of your time.

 

You’re a scavenger, grab opportunities. 

 

You need to be on the look out at all times.  If you’re at someone’s house just hanging out, look around for a second.  Everything you need is right around you.  If your friend is dumb enough to leave you alone with the fridge for two or more minutes, dive in and make a bowl of cereal or chow down on an apple or their left-over Chinese food.

 

If you over-hear someone talking about a dinner party, make yourself a part of the conversation.  When you get invited and show up, be a hit and make sure those strangers become your friends.  The next time they have a get together, you’ll be on the list. 

 

At a house party.

 

Wait for your opportunity to make a dash to the kitchen.  Late in the night is the best time to hit the fridge and pantry.  By then, the hosts are too wasted to care that you’ve drunk all their grapefruit juice and are in the process of raiding their chocolate supply.  And don’t be bashful.  If you’re going to eat something, you might as well eat all of it and destroy the evidence.  Don’t leave things like bags of chips and ice cream containers half empty.

 

As a final note, don’t borrow anything you can’t replace because it might get damaged.  Or stolen.

 

If you want any more tips about mooching, give me a call and I’d be happy to talk to you about it over dinner.

I took Justin’s mountain bike to go ride with Dave last night up at Ridgline.  It was great.  But the result of riding his bike is not.

Yesterday started out pretty good.  I was staying at Geoff’s house over in Springfield and woke up from a great night of sleep.  I’m staying there for the next two weeks while he and Annah are in California.  And I might paint the exterior if the weather permits.  I made a big breakfast and rode over to the bike shop under a warm and sunny sky.  I was feeling good, happy.  Every day brings me one day closer to training! 

So I got to the shop at 10ish and the guys and I did a little clean up at the shop.  It was lookin real nice, very spic and span.  We were ready for some serious business, especially since I had 3 confirmed customers coming in to buy bikes.  We were definitly going to exceed our $2,000 quota for the day, ensuring our bonuses for the week.  (Gilad and Levi are at Interbike this week so Zack, Colin, Dave, and I have been left to run the  shop on our own.  And we each get a bonus if we average $2,000 for the day). 

But yesterday proved to be the slowest day ever.  Not one of those people came in and bought a bike.  But not to worry.  I stayed busyish anyways.  I rode down the stairs in the shop on Gilad’s DH bike (about 20 steps).  I have no mountain biking skills, so I wore a full face helmet and shin guards.  I did not crash.  The rest of the day Dave and I tuned our manual, bunny hop, and stair jumping skills outside in the parking lot.  I was able to ride up a flight of 5 stairs, and learned how drop off them too.  We ordered a couple pizzas for lunch and just hung out all day attempting to get customers to come in.

Which brings us to the point in the story where Dave and I went to ride Ridgeline.  I got permision to ride Justin’s Kona Kula Deluxe 29er single speed.  I tore it up the climbs and Dave tore it up on the descents.  It was a great ride and we got back after dark.

I stopped by Mike’s house to see what everyone was up to later that night, and was surprised to see Andrew, Karey, Chris, Mike, Mckenzie, Leeahnn, and Steve already getting ready to eat.  They had called me but I left my phone back at Geoff’s that morning.  So I rushed over to Springfield to throw on some clothes and drop the bike off at the house.  But I realized that I had forgotten the keys and my wallet at the shop, which was now locked and closed up for the night.  I jumped Geoff’s back fence and tried to get in a window, but it was locked.  So I reached through the cat door of the back door to unlock it from the inside.  But I forgot about the chain like up above–where I couldn’t reach with my arm.  So I squeezed through the cat door to my waist and got the door unlocked.  But I couldn’t get out of the cat door.  I struggled there for about five minutes before I finally managed to get out by taking my shirt off and exhaling as much as possible. 

I got back to Mike’s and ate dinner while we tried to figure out how to get my Wallet, which had my ID in it, from the shop.  We were going out to the bars, which is why I needed my ID.  Zack had the shop keys, so I tried to find out how to get in contact with him.  I ended up finding his parents in the phone book and calling them up for his cell number.  But his phone was on silent so it took forever for him to answer it.

We met up with Derek and hung out at the downtown bars  and met up with a bunch of people there, and almost got into a fight with a group of guys that worked at Paul’s Bicyle Way of Life.  (just kidding, we all hit it off great). 

So anyways, I walked home to Mike’s house and called it a night.  BUT…

Here’s the crappy part: I left Justin’s pimped-out Kona in the back of Andrew’s car earlier that night (very stupid).  And when Andrew got back to it to drive home, he found a hole in his window and an empty car.  The thief stole $1,000 in cash from Andrew’s car (left there from earlier in the day when he sold his stereos for his Power Tap money).  They also jacked his ipod, back pack, and oh yeah….Justin’s $3,000 bike.  So I’m going to sell my Kona Zing Supreme to pay Justin back (I already gave the Cervelo back to the shop).

If you want to buy a 60cm 2007 Zing Supreme, I’m selling it for $1,500.  It retailed new for $3,000. 

I found out about the theft this morning, which made me need to write about it to get it off my mind.  I went out riding around town for an hour searching for the thief and imagining what I would do to him if I found him.  I hope he/she dies a slow horrible death caused by all that meth he/she bought with the stolen stuff.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBGIQ7ZuuiU

 

Amaaaazzzzing.  I suggest watching it over and over again until you remember all the words and dance moves.  Come by Life Cycle any time this week for a re-enactment.

I took the train up to portland yesterday after a night of mayham, which I cannot talk about.  The train left at 5 AM, and I planned on waking up at 4:30 and running over there from Larry’s place.  But my cell phone battery died and my alarm never went off so I slept in, but caught the next train.  (reader’s note: I hate taking Amtrak.  I hate it with a vengance.  One time I spent 5.5 hours going from Oregon City to Eugene because the freight cars kept forcing us off the track.  I could have ridden my bike from Sherwood  (my parent’s house) to Eugene in that amount of time.  Another time I was charge extra for not picking up my ticket at the ticket booth.  I was furious and swore loudly at the ticket guy, who was being a jerk about it.  Another time I didn’t have my photo ID with me and they wouldn’t let me on the train for security reasons.  What is a terrorist going to do on a train?  Run it into a building?  Take the three other passengers on board as hostages?  I ended up having to hitch hike up to Portland that day.  Plus they didn’t give me my money back from the pre-paied ticket I purchased.  The list goes on and on.)

I arrived at the train station and walked around freezing cold Oregon City until my brother, Galen, came and picked me up, an hour late.  When we got home, we got Thomas (our dog) into a frenzie and he bit both of us in the hamstring as we ran around the house playing keep away with his squeeky toy.  Thomas is a big white husky-type dog called a Samoyed.  He is very insane at times and gets a crazed look in his eye when you run away from him.

That afternoon we headed out to explore some caves.  Two of Galen’s friends came with us, Chi and Quinn.  We all forgot to bring a camera, so you’ll just have to imagine what the cave looked like.

A small opening in the ground was our entry point.  We squeezed into the hole and turned out headlamps on.  The inside of the cave became moister and colder as we descended, climbing and pulling our way down into the earth between giant boulders.  This cave system was formed when a massive avalanche of house-sized boulders came careening off the side of the cliff that towers above the entire cave-sight area.

We explored different caverns and pushed ourselves through tiny openings for about an hour when we decided to try a different cave.  This one seemed to be a dead end.  We had tried every passage and hadn’t made it farther down than two or three stories.  We climbed up the vertical shaft, heading for daylight.  But we found a new crack to slither through, which prooved to open into a number of different rooms.  The size of the caverns were no bigger than a very small room, but sometimes pretty tall or very long and wide.  But for the most part, we were hunched over or on our hands and knees.  An example of the conversation as we explored different caverns:

“Woohh, this is huge.”

“That’s what she said.”

“I don’t think you can fit through that hole.”

“That’s what she said.”

“It’s a tight fit.”

“That’s what she said.”

Don’t blame me, they’re all in high school.  I had no part in this kind of talk.

The cold wet rocks were sharp and cut into us as we scrambled on our stomachs through a tiny crack that lead into another series or rooms.  We had brought string with us to lay down a trail so we wouldn’t get lost, but we hadn’t actually laid any down at this point.  Good plan…

We all got through the crack and explored the new cavern’s exit points until we found that it was a dead end.  I suggested we turn our lights off for a few minutes, so we sat down and enjoyed some pure darkness.  Although there was no light down there, we could all imagine seeing faint outlines of our hands in front of our faces as we waved them in front of our eyes.

We headed back to the surface, but ended up getting a bit turned around and lost.  We were climbing straight up a 15 foot chimney when a giant boulder shifted and clamped down on Chi’s hand.  It pinned him there as he dangled from his trapped hand; his feet flung about wildly, trying to find a foot-hold.  I got over to him and pushed the boulder off his pinned hand and he scrambled up the rest of the way.  Galen finally found the way out and Quinn and Chi let out a sigh of relief; they had been panicking just a little by this point.  Another 15 minutes of climbing and squirrming through the boulders and we got out into the warm open air, which had turned from a sunny afternoon to a cloudy night sky.

I was goning to meet with some people about the team today, but that’s not happening.  So we’re going to go back and explore a different cave today.

I don’t have very much to talk about now that I’m off the saddle.  Life is a little more…meaningless.  And boring.  It seems like I don’t have a reason for getting up in the morning, or getting dressed, making plans for the day, or eating.  The eating thing is the biggest change.  I am used to eating once when I get up at breakfast, once after I eat breakfast as I head out the door, once in class, once when I get home from class, once before my ride, during the ride, after the ride, dinner, food at a friend’s house later that evening, and maybe a snack before bed.  The sole reason for my existence was not to ride, but to eat.  I thought about food all day long: as I fell asleep at night, in my dreams, as I got up in the middle of the night to pee, as I woke up, in class I thought about what food I would eat when I got home, on the bike I would fantasize about all the food I wanted to eat but didn’t have back at home.  But now I no longer think about food.  And I don’t think about training or racing.  So what the hell am I supposed to do now?  Girls?  Yes, but not 24 hours a day.  Working at the shop?  No.  The new team?  Yeah, but I certainly don’t fantasize about it as I go to sleep at night.  Well I do a little, actually.  But my point is–I hate the off season.  The bars/parties are already getting old, TV sucks, movies are boring, sleeping is boring (another thing I used to look forward to), and eating the cheap, bad-tasting food that I am used to eating no longer tastes amazing because I don’t have a humongous appetite.  Anyways I’m rambling now.  I had a good idea for a post/story but I forgot what it was and I was left with this garbage of a post.  Oh well.  I may be going climbing/caving with my brother up in Portland this weekend (I’m also going up to talk to some people about the team.)  Or I’ll be down here in Eugene, where I’ll get to go ride horses with AlexAnne.

Other news.  I am sad to say that I just left Mike and Steve’s house.  It was a comfortable couch and I enjoyed living there eating their food for the past two weeks and using their shower, but my time was up.  Now I’m at Larry and Will’s couch.  I’ll leave you with a thought:

If you were a sea lion, would you rather live in great white territory or orca territory?

How much money would it take for you to not speak for an entire year?

If you believe in patriotism, is it a good idea to support your country’s decisions no matter what? 

If you had to choose between only eating cheese-its or cream cheese and pretzels for the rest of your life, which would you choose?

After consulting with my business partners I’ve come to a new conclusion. “Why don’t you just use more helicopters?”  They asked.  “True,” I thought.  “Maybe a million helicopters.”  And then I thought—No just ONE giant helicopter that will take one trip.  Much simpler.

I’ve been in Eugene the past week working on the new team.  So far it’s been a little depressing.  A number of bike companies are interested in us, but no luck with money sponsors.  I was hoping I could nail down a half million in the first week, but I think it might be a bit more difficult than I thought.  

Other then the team business, I’ve been having fun catching up with friends down here.  I’m currently chilling at Mike’s place on his roommate’s couch.  My search for a place to live only lasted a day.  I’m waiting for an opportunity to bring itself to me now, like waiting for the right break to go in.  I suspect Mike and his roommates may have a different opinion.

Here’s a quick blurb about an idea that has been coming up in conversations around here lately: If one was to fill the entire Midwest with water to make another ocean, how many giant helicopters would it take to complete the task?  We’re talking about filling everything between the Appalachians and the Rockies.  The reason for doing this is that we don’t want or need anything from those states other than corn.  And instead of eating so much corn we’ll eat more fish.  But there aren’t any fish left in the current oceans that exist.  So we’ll fill the new ocean with tons and tons of fish.  30-foot genetically modified sturgeons.  

The biggest helicopter can carry 28 tons.  To find out how many trips it would take an army of helicopters (say 187,023 helicopters), we need to figure out the area we need to fill.  It’s roughly 1,000 miles by 1,000 miles.  That’s 1,000,000 square miles.  And we need to have that ocean at least a mile deep.  So it will take one million cubic miles of water.  A cubic foot of water is 62 pounds.  there are 2,000 pounds in a ton.  that means there are 32 cubic feet of water in a ton.  Multiply that by 28 (the number of tons that one of these choppers can carry) and you get 896.  Round that sucker up to 1,000 because I’m guessing these choppers could carry a bit more weight if we gave them Nos. injectors.  There are 5,280 feet in a mile and 16,169,472,000 feet in a cubic mile.  Multiply that number by 1,000,000 cubic miles and you get 161,694,720,000,000,000 feet in a million cubic miles.  Multiply that by 62 for to get the pounds in a million cubic miles.  Then you get 10,025,072,640,000,000,000 pounds of water in a million cubic miles.  Divide that by 1,000 (the number of cubic feet a chopper can carry).  That equals 10,025,072,640,000,000.  Then divide that by 187,023 helicopters and you get 5,360,342,118 trips each chopper has to take.  That’s a lot of trips.  Costly. but do-able. and of course worthwhile.