Trapped in Another World!

Observation:
The reason this is updated so poorly today (and hasn't been updated very recently) is that I spent the entire day today playing Magic: The Gathering. For anyone who doesn't know, this was a rather fun and, dare I say, important activity for me through high school. I haven't played since then, except for some very casual games in the dorms once or twice. It was excellent to go back. It is as addictive as ever. My observation, though, concerns what I call the world of Magic. Yes, it has a fantasy setting, but no, that's not what I'm referring to. What I'm talking about is what occurs when you walk into a shop. An instant change sweeps over you. Females no longer exist, for one thing. It is all men. Correction: it is all overweight, rather unattractive men with too much time and or money on their hands, engaging in banter and name-calling. And it is awesome. If you're prepared for the environment and can jump in and shoot the bull with the guys, you can spend (as I found out) twelve hours in this world without noticing.
And another thing. The people haven't changed. It's the same core group of guys that was there when I stopped, they all still play similarly, and the hierarchy is undisturbed. Perhaps the most amusing thing was the fact that not even the music had changed. I don't know what radio station they have coming in, but it's the same song selection to the point that, while I don't like the songs (and actively dislike many of them), I know all the lyrics. I don't even realize I know all the lyrics until I catch myself anticipating the next line. It's crazy. And for that reason, the fact that I was sucked into another world (a la Alice, but a bit more voluntarily) I don't have a full-fledged post for you today. But I had a great time. My next post will talk about some more cycling stuff and will hopefully have the creative components I don't have the time or energy to include here. Thanks so much for bearing with me.

Me:
Saturday dawned, and we packed up the tent. The plan was to hike in the Needles area of Canyonlands and maybe go to Arches if there was time. However, it turns out that Canyonlands is awkwardly huge, and we were on the wrong side of it, making it way easier to go to Arches for the day. At the entrance we bought an annual pass for the national parks, knowing we would go through enough on this trip alone to make it worth the eighty dollars. We went straight to the northern end of the park and started hiking. We hit all the major arches, and I realized that these rock formations are much less interesting the third time you see them. I think it has something to do with the fact that they are so individual that you remember each of them perfectly, making revisiting something a bit droll. And there are only so many ways you can see them. The vantage points are the same every time, and as an obvious result, the view is identical to every photo ever taken of them. So while this park was one of my favorites, it has lost a bit of its magic.
We hiked the Devil's Garden trail and the Delicate Arch trail, drove through the sights around the southern end of the park, and realized that there wasn't really anything else to do while we were there. And Rebecca had looked up a swimming hole near Moab she wanted to go to, so after tracking down some allergy medication for some odd symptoms she was experiencing, we made our way to Mill Creek. As we were pulling in, so was an ambulance. And a firetruck. And some police cars. I was unsure that this was the place to be at the moment, but we were blocked in by the emergency vehicles, so we headed up the trail.  The path ran along the creek for a couple of miles before heading into the water. It was moving pretty fast, so we crossed and headed up a left fork (as was described by the internet as the way to the swimming area). Along the way we found a deeper, slow section, and Rebecca took full advantage to combat the heat. Eventually we pressed on a bit and found the spot we were looking for. I could keep writing, but it's probably easier to show this video of Rebecca jumping in (note that she is not the first person we see plummeting from above).

Unbeknownst to me, there were many people on top of the cliffs. Not wanting to go back up amongst the crowd, Rebecca decided we could go. I, having no interest in jumping or getting wet in general, thought that sounded fine. We made it back to the car and got some ice cream from a store that appeared on my phone as Kaleidoscoops. Unfortunately, that was not the name of the establishment when we arrived, but they did have ice cream, so we got some anyway, despite the disappointment brought on by the less-awesome name. We looked at a map for a while and departed, heading for the Needles District of Canyonlands, and more specifically, a campground just outside it called Hamburger Rock. It was a pretty long drive in, but luckily it was also a pretty, long drive in. The branching canyons and sunset-lit rock formations looked nice, and we were hoping vigorously that one of the six spots advertised at the campground would be open. So eager were we to find the campground that we drove past the entrance, turning instead into the Needles Outpost campground. This turned out perfectly, as things sometimes seem to for me. You see, we had really hoped to have our first campfire, but it turns out that particular dream required some firewood. Needles Outpost had some, making us happy, but still anxious to find the campground for which we had set out.
When we came to the park entrance we knew for sure we had gone too far. We turned around and drove back the way we had come, looking at the odometer to estimate where the turn should be. Of course, the turn was labeled from the other direction. It wasn't really our fault for missing it after all, since there wasn't any sign from the direction we had originally traveled. We made the turn, and when the pavement turned to gravel, I started apologizing to my car. It was worse than the normal washboard-style backroads usually encountered out west. There were huge rocks jutting up through the road's surface, threatening to rip out the underside of my car, and the disparity in elevations caused my vehicle to pitch and roll with every section.
Having made it to the campsites, we quickly ascertained that we were the first ones there. And since it was already getting dark, it seemed like we were destined to have it all to ourselves. Which was awesome at first. The campsites are situated inside rock formations, and it was beautiful. I made the fire (much to the surprise of my companion, who seemed to have some doubts as to my ability to accomplish this feat), and we ate some hotdogs and s'mores. It was at this point I made an excellent discovery. See, the chocolate "bars" we had taken along were no longer really worthy of the term. They were packets of liquid. After opening one and attempting to scoop the chocolate onto the mushy mass (and having it run all over everything in the process), I realized they could just be treated as giant condiment packets. I ripped the corner open and squeezed. Dare I say genius? It worked brilliantly, and we enjoyed quite a few delectable delights.

Then the fact that we were alone in the middle of nowhere set in. It didn't matter too much obviously, but I couldn't help having it run through my mind that were we to be beset by something (a bear? I don't know), we would have no help. If it's true there is safety in numbers, we were not very safe. So I slept a bit nervously. One idea I had was keeping the car key readily accessible so I could hit the alarm button in an attempt to scare away anything that seemed out of place. Of course, nothing like that happened the entire trip, but it reassured me to have a contingency plan (albeit an untested, perhaps ineffective one).

Vacation begins with poetry edits and religious surprises

Poem:
See exercise. Convenient, right?

Observation:
One of the most surprising moments of my life occurred when I was talking to my mom about religion. I was talking about my atheism, and she said something that caught me so off guard all I could do was let out a puff of air somewhere between a laugh and a cough. She said not believing in God was like taking the easy way out. And looking at it with some degree of separation, I can see where that idea comes from. If faith is defined as believing in something without absolute proof, it probably does seem like having faith is a challenge. According to some philosophers, the only thing that makes faith worth having at all is the fact that it is constantly challenged and returned to (Kierkegaard). So not believing would be seen as giving up the challenge, or taking the easy road. Now let me explain why I chuffed out the air I did.
I am terrified of dying. As an atheist, there is no reassurance available to me. I look at my life, realize it's going to end all too soon (yeah, I'm in my twenties; it's still too soon), and instead of thinking "Hey, things are going to be awesome in the afterlife," I get to think "Well, I guess that's going to suck." And the best part is, it's indescribable just how much it's going to suck. Because it's not like there's anything to which it can compare. It's just an end. A really depressing blackness (I guess? It's probably not blackness, since I won't exist to perceive blackness) that concludes my being. So I looked back at my mom and said "What!? I wish I believed in God. You know how much better I would feel 'knowing' this wasn't the only thing there was to being me?" I won't go into the reasons I have for my atheism. They're pretty basic, and yet so convincing I am completely confused by people with faith. But at the same time, I am envious. Oh my am I envious. To be reassured, to actually fall asleep at night, to not randomly realize in the middle of a perfectly normal activity that my life is inexorably proceeding to termination. Those are things to be envious of. So when my mom said I was taking the easy way out, I chuffed. I lost control of my breathing momentarily because I had never even considered that someone might think of it that way. Because trust me, it's not easy from where I'm sitting.

Exercise:
Pick a poem, story, or blog post that you’ve written. Go through and get rid of words and phrases that aren’t absolutely necessary. Then go through it again, reconnecting everything and rearranging the words that remain so they are compelling. See how short you’re willing to go.

Original:

Undistracted

The stillness vibrates
Soundless air too empty
To remain still.
The thunder of eyelashes
Colliding in blackness
Echoes in my empty mind
As dim lights gleam
Off metal scraps
And mentality alternates
Between throbbing foreground
And backgrounded thoughts.

My heart announces itself
In my eardrums
Steadily increasing its pace
As reality shrinks in,
Glinting metal melding into
White walls, replacing pictures
With shadowed shapes

Unbearable
Headphones convey life's soundtrack
Drowning out my mortal heart
With unsteady beats of bass
Intangibility replaces
Real walls and shining splinters
Sheltering my mind
From the void of closed eyes.

Words removed:

Undistracted

Stillness vibrates
Soundless air empty
remain still
thunder eyelashes
Colliding in blackness
echo my empty mind.
Dim lights gleam
Off metal scraps
And alternates
throbbing foreground
backgrounded thoughts.

My heart announces
my eardrums
increasing pace
As reality shrinks,
Glinting metal melding
White walls
Unbearable
Headphones life's soundtrack
Drowning my heart
With unsteady bass
Intangibility replaces
Real walls shining splinters
Sheltering my mind
From the void of closed eyes.

Revised version (trimmed more):

Empty air vibrates
soundless waves.
Thunderous eyelashes
collide in blackness.
Dim light gleams
off metal scraps.
Alternate:
throbbing foreground,
backgrounded thoughts.

Heart in eardrums
faster
as reality shrinks
to glinting metal,
white walls,
unbearable.

Headphones:
life's soundtrack
drowning my heart
in unsteady bass,
both thumping.
Walls and shining splinters
shelter my mind
from the void of closed eyes.

Me:
Now that I have finished talking about the second half of the trip I took, I suppose it's time to hit upon some of the other things we did on our vacation. And yes, this means I don't have anything better to talk about. My life is so uninteresting that I have to relive my vacation from weeks ago rather than try to come up with something worthwhile from my current mundane existence. (All I'm doing is biking, eating, sleeping, and occasionally working.) Anyway, I guess I'll go all the way back to the beginning. We left on a Friday morning to drive and begin seeing things Saturday. We had been hoping to leave Thursday night and maybe be able to see something Friday, but I had a time trial to ride (and get destroyed at by my teammate Kevin, who is crazy fast even without aero equipment), so we delayed a bit. And then Rebecca slept straight through her alarm, so we delayed a bit more (no big deal, it was just funny to surprise her in the morning with an "I'm outside, you ready?" and hear a very sleepy "Uh?" in response). So then we drove. And that's about that until we got to Denver, at which point Rebecca found mountains. Now, I've been around a lot of mountains, and I guess their effect has worn off somewhat, but Rebecca's camera made an immediate appearance. To be honest, I didn't know just how many pictures she had taken until we got back. It turns out that for every time I saw her take a picture (which was plenty), she had actually snuck in like five more. The driving was fun, though, and it was great to see her so excited.
Then we saw something unexpected: there were bikes on the side of the road. On a bike path near the road, it appeared. We saw them a couple more times, and, intrigued, we stopped in Vail just down the road and backtracked to find where they were coming from with some assistance from my iPhone. It turns out there is a trail leading up the mountain pass from Vail, and that it is incredibly easy to find from the highway. There was a parking area next to the road, so I broke out the bike I had taken along and started off (albeit with no water). Just up the road a barricade was across preventing cars from going any further. This was awesome! I had the entire road to myself, and then it turned off onto a bike path which was immediately scenic. Here is a video I took (I hope):

I made it to the top (or where I saw the bikes in the first place, perhaps not the top of the trail), and stopped to enjoy both the view and the bathrooms I found conveniently placed there. And snapped this photo:

It had taken me the better part of an hour to make my way slowly to the point I considered the top. It took about fifteen minutes to get back down. It was pretty fun coasting along, but when I did need to pedal after about ten minutes of coasting, my legs protested slightly. Apparently they had gotten too used to the good life and thought everywhere should be downhill from everywhere else. I can't say I disagree. That would be neat.
I rejoined Rebecca, who had hiked up a convenient trail while I was riding, and we resumed driving, pulling into a campground near Canyonlands National Park late that night. We set up the tent and went to sleep, ready to begin our vacation in earnest the next day.

In conclusion: Ants are losers

Beneath Us

The firewood swarms solid
fire-red with ants drawn to dead
fish heads on spines pitched
into the pit, heads on pikes
to warn others: Beware
of bait. An endless swarm
of passers-by heed no warning,
for there is safety in numbers,
and if that's true
they are safe everywhere
from everything.

We are walking on their nest
building on their homes
and stepping on their children
as they march single file
(in so many files)
which is lucky
for if they marched en masse
we'd be swept away
the ground alive
and carrying us down
into the pit
our skulls on our spines.

Poem:
Ants are creepy. There are way too many ants. So creepy.

Observation:
Iowa is flat. Yup, this is another observation based on a bike race. Luckily, most of the time Iowa is windy, which adds some resistance and something to work with during a race. Unfortunately, neither hills nor wind were present on the course I rode yesterday, which meant it was really boring. I had resigned myself to a sprint finish, something I haven't ever been eager to do, and so something I have never really done before. Surprisingly enough, I wound up in perfect position during the run-in to the finish line, and then I had the great idea of botching the whole thing up. I swung out of the draft to come around the guy in front of me, looked up and realized I had way further to the finish than I thought. Exactly as this was happening the rest of the field opened the spring, and all I had time for was to think "Darn" as they all came by me. And that was that. Forty-something miles of racing and nothing to show for it but a ruined sprint.

Exercise:
Take an Aesop's fable--- for example, "The Tortoise and the Hare" ; "The Ant and Grasshopper"; "Frogs Desiring a King"--- and change the animals and/or the story and/or the moral at the end.

The hare crested the hill only to see the tortoise celebrating his victory. "Curse that nap," he muttered to himself. It was the upset of the century, and the other animals would never let him live it down. The bear and the monkey tossed the tortoise into the air in a happy display of jubilation. He soared practically into the branches of a nearby tree (the one to which the finish line banner had been tied) before plummeting back to earth. The experience was exhilarating, and the tortoise, arms raised in celebration shouted "Again! Again!" The hare faded into the background, anxious to avoid attention.
Now, most people would say the moral of the story has something to do with not wasting talent, or that the hare did something wrong by taking that nap. But think about the tortoise for a second. He had flown. He had experienced soaring through the trees, the wind rushing under his shell, and the weightless feeling of being unburdened. The shell didn't weigh him down. And the speed. The entire race he had moved slower than half the speed with which he had been tossed into the air. To see what he had been missing out on, what the hare experienced every day? It was torture from the moment they set him down. The tortoise couldn't return to his life of mediocrity. Back to his crawling movement, hauling his shell around at a pace slightly faster than the grass grew underfoot. Sure, the hare was embarrassed temporarily. He couldn't look his friends in the eye for a while, but the tortoise went the whole rest of his life knowing the peak had passed. So perhaps the moral of the story is that it's better to lose and know you could have won than to won and know you never will again.

Me:
On the trip to Sand Dunes we were thinking about stopping somewhere a bit further away from the park and taking some time to roast marshmallow. Normally that would be plural. You know, roasting marshmallowS. But after a week in a car at well over a hundred degrees, the term was definitely singular. What we had at our disposal was a plastic bag with a single, poofy mass that had conformed to the triangular corner in which it was stored. The stickiness was unbelievable, but we were determined to roast it or perish in the attempt. Unfortunately, we were in that unfortunate situation where the only campgrounds we looked at were priced inconveniently, especially given their lack of anything very interesting around. So we continued on, thinking that if we were going to pay twenty bucks to pitch a tent, we might as well do it right next to the park. En route, Rebecca used my phone and managed to locate an almost-unknown campground that had opened earlier that year right outside the park. In case anyone finds themselves in the area and wanting to drive a ways on a gravel road, it is located up the road to Zapata Falls. The best part was that it had no signs indicating its presence, so there were plenty of spots available. Or maybe the best part was that it was still so newly-opened that it was free. Or that it was so newly-opened that the bathrooms were clean. In any case, it was a great find.
We woke up and I wanted to make a quick go of it out to the dunes, since once the sand heats up things become a bit less enjoyable, especially if you want to walk barefoot. The thing about Sand Dunes is: once you've seen it, you pretty much get it. Yeah, it's impressive, and you should definitely hike up to the top of one of the bigger dunes (which is what we did), but upon looking at it for a while, all that's really left is to head back down to the car. Which is awesome. The trek up is strenuous, an exercise in persistence, as every step is met with a cascade of sand carrying you back toward the ground. The trek down is, well, not a trek. It's just plain fun. There is no unsure footing, so you can run as fast as you want. In fact, your feet sink in and stabilize you as you go. Balance is a bit tricky, but you can fly once you get used to it. Of course, if you're as enthusiastic as Rebecca, you get going a little too fast and the only effective method of stopping is to fall over. So it's kind of like me trying to ski. A long ride up, a short ride down, and you fall over and get snow (sand) inside of everything.
And that was about it. We headed back from there, drove late (saw some fireworks during the drive), and got back around four in the morning.

Too much about me

No poem today. It's late, and I need some sleep. Another race tomorrow.

Observation:
Tis fits better in the "me" section, but that seems to be full, so I'll talk about my race today here. It was in Clear Lake, and my observation would have to be that the course is awful. Almost every corner is incredibly rough, there are huge speed bumps and potholes on the back stretch, and the streets are too narrow to move around in the group adequately. Maybe I'm just complaining because I started in the back, but it made it almost impossible to have a decent race. I spent a lot of energy sprinting, braking, sprinting, and braking, and gradually made my way into the lead group. It was impossible to ride my bike normally, since itmnever really felt like both my wheels were on the ground. So many bumps... People were losing bottles off their bikes due to the massive bumps. Wheels were rubbed in front of me because there weren't any decent lines through the corners, and all in all, I thought it was a terrible venue for the state championships.

Exercise:
Write a letter to the teacher who gave you a hard time in gradeschool or high school.

Dear Mrs. Van Slyke
Turns out I didn't need to be pumped full of medication after all. I know it would have made your job easier if i would have been sedated in the back of your room rather than constantly talking (and correcting you), or reading books when I wasn't supposed to. And it just so happens my parents did a great job, no parenting classes required. I guess what I'm curious about is this: why is your husband so much cooler than you. When he fought my English class he seemed pretty willing to consider me almost as a peer, giving me honest recommendations, and not once sending notes home to my parents. Oh, and his wrestling posters were way more interesting to look at in the classroom than your teddy bear collection.

Me:
Where was I? I think we had left Zion? If so, then we were headed to Mesa Verde. We drove until 11:30, passing by a couple of campgrounds that proved too expensive to warrant a stay. We really liked campgrounds run by the forest service or the Bureau of Land Management, since they were generally between ten and fifteen dollars and well-maintained. We passed on two campgrounds that were around twenty dollars a site. I don't understand how they can justify charging that much for a forty-foot square patch of ground. When you think about it, fifteen dollars is a bit pricey as well. So we rolled in, set up the tent by midnight, woke up a few hours later, and left for Mesa Verde. Or rather, we started heading in the appropriate direction. During the ten minutes of driving I realized we had yet to eat a "real" breakfast. Now, peanut butter and jelly are fantastic, but I felt like treating us to some pancakes, so we stopped by a cafe and grabbed a menu. It was expensive. The only thing on the menu that looked in some way original happened to be the pancakes, which was convenient since that's what we wanted. They were sourdough pancakes with authentic maple syrup. They were $6.50 (I only mention this fact because it comes into play in a bit), and they were delicious. We shared three, and upon seeing Rebecca's face when she took her first bite, I promptly gave her some of my half, saying I would be more than happy with more peanut butter and bread in the car. At the rate I eat, I only get to taste the good stuff for about two seconds anyway, so it makes sense to give most of it to her. She gets more out of the experience. Then we remembered the bakery counter at the front of the cafe. We ordered a mini macaroon ($1.50) and a chocolaty raspberry-y crumbly cookie-y bar ($2.50). We then told the cashier where we had sat, and he said our total was $15.50. I had our last fifteen dollars with me, but Rebecca had some quarters in her wallet (in the car), so she went and got that to fund our first real breakfast. In the moment I was a bit confused why we were being charged so much, but not certain enough to dispute it. So I talked to the guy about wrestling while Rebecca went to the car. Apparently when someone hears your from Iowa State, it becomes obvious you know something about the sport. So I said the name Cael Sanderson a few times in order to sound like I knew anything, and when Rebecca got back we paid and left. I figured even if we had been overcharged, I would just consider the extra a tip. Because after eating that chocolate raspberry concoction, I was definitely in the mood to leave a tip. It was amazing. In case it ever becomes relevant, the name of the place was Absolute. I guess they thought the vodka shouldn't have all the fun with the name.
Anyway, we went into Mesa Verde, got to the visitor's center, and it turned out there was a tour leaving for Balcony House in thirty minutes, followed by one of the first not-sold-out tours of Cliff Palace at 12:30. We bought tickets for three dollars apiece and headed out. Ou first tour was led by a bubbly girl ranger who was thrilled by the sound of her own voice. She wasn't unamusing, I suppose, but let's just say she wasn't nearly as entertaining as she thought she was. She did things like asking us to pay attention to our surroundings as we walked down the path, then asking us what we noticed. When people said the names of plants, animals, etc, she asked, with a quite proud and self-amused smile on her face, if we had happened to notice the giant canyon. Well, of course we had. Nobody wanted to state the obvious, but most people chuckled like they were supposed to. But the sights were beautiful, the pueblos were as interesting as ever, and the tour was good over all. Highlights included climbing ladders on the cliff face, crawling through a small opening in a pueblo, and the screaming infant drowning out whatever "clever" things our tour guide was saying.
The next tour was scheduled for 12:30, which was an hour away yet, so we got there early and waited around at the beginning of the trail by a kiosk in the shade. At one point we even heard the person inside the kiosk (which sold water and maps and stuff) say it was a good place to wait until the tour. By the time 12:32 rolled around we got concerned and went down the trail a ways, only to find a sign saying to wait there for the ranger. We had missed our tour. We went back to the kiosk and shared our woes with the lady there, and were told to wait for the next ranger and see if they'd let us on. We did, but before the 1:00 tour rolled around, the person from the kiosk found us and gave us some tickets that had been abandoned with her. It was so nice! Then our ranger showed up, told everyone that had missed their tour (we weren't the only ones) they were welcome to join.
This tour was awesome. The ranger was knowledgable, interesting, and concerned for us. He had us sit in the shade whenever possible, and was fantastic about sharing his oponion about what certain things meant in a historical context. And the best part was that it didn't seem to be idle speculation. He knew his stuff. He used terminology from my anthropology textbooks, and had pretty decent evidence for his conclusions. All in all, it was fantastic. From there we moved on to the Cedar Canyon trail, which took us past Spruce Tree House for some more pictures. We finished the three mile hike, got in the car, and took a winding road to our last house of the day. At that point I was falling asleep on my feet, so Rebecca drove a few hours as we headed toward Great Sand Dunes for the next day.

Half a post

I wasn't sure if I would be working today, and as it turned out, I did, which meant I only had time to continue talking about my vacation. I should have time for a real post tomorrow. Ah, what the heck; I'll write a poem too. It can double as my observation. And I'll pretend my writing prompt is to write a story as though you had just gotten back from your ideal vacation.

A Shower

I am never so grateful to be unincarcerted
As when I drop the soap in the shower.
It happens frequently enough
That I'm sure I would be popular
For all the wrong reasons

My clumsy hands no cage for slippery things
But today, as I endeavor to clean my ears
My fingers form a seal
And I am left in my own world
An isolation box filled with the echoes
Of drumming drops.

Me:
Picking up where I left off, we drove toward Zion and camped west of the park. We found camping at a state park, which was fifteen dollars night, but the fact that it was on a beach was a major redeeming factor. We woke up and weren't in much of a hurry. Well, I wasn't in much of a hurry. See, we knew we were going to be hiking the Narrows, which is an upriver jaunt through icy waters, but I knew the earlier we got there the colder it would be. As much as I tried to convey this fact, Rebecca's excitement remained undaunted. So we packed leisurely and ate some breakfast, and still somehow made it into the water before 10:00. And, as predicted, it was COLD. My feet numbed pretty quickly, and my legs are pretty used to the temperature, but the first section of any difficulty had us up to our chests. And then I took a step in the wrong direction and found myself afloat. So I drifted downstream a ways, and gradually made my way back up to the deep section, confident that if Rebecca had not still had an unwavering smile on her face I would have waited for another occasion to try this hike. We made it through, of course, and kept going for a number of miles, stopping to warm up every so often on convenient sandbars.
Unbeknownst to me, these stops were not enough. We made it to a convenient point and took an extended break in an attempt to stop the full-body shaking that had taken over Rebecca during a particularly long section of waist-high (or deeper) water. A bit of lunch was consumed, and it must have been half an hour before we decided it was decision time. There was a fork in the river, and the tentative plan was to explore the side canyon for a bit and make another decision in a while. However, upon taking a few steps up the shallower canyon, we saw that no more than twenty meters up the way it included a quite-large, quite deep pool, so we turned around. Rebecca, still shivering, said we could keep going, but I was having none of that. She looked to be on the verge of hypothermia, and I don't regret the decision at all. Besides, we had a lot of fun on the way downstream. The sun had started to make its way to the bottom of most of the canyon, so we were quite a bit warmer as we started moving again. So much warmer, in fact, that Rebecca's regained enthusiasm resulted in some floating in the current. While unable to do this for a very prolonged period of time (due both to terrain and the threat of pneumonia), it was quite amusing.
By the time we reached that initial deep section, the cold had set in again, so we called it quits at the trailhead and caught the shuttle back down to the visitor's center. We bought some postcards and a small image calendar as souvenirs, and started driving back east. Luckily, east of Zion is not only home, but also Mesa Verde (and Great Sand Dunes, come to think of it). We pulled into a campground rather late, and I will pick up the story soon.

Elbow Chapstick is a Metaphoric Traffic Accident for a Venemous Trip

Sharing

Asked if I want chapstick
since it has a built-in protection
from the sun, keeping lips rosy
and a bit greasy
more likely to stick together
when pursed, and with a residue
of whiteness for wiping on your sleeve
when the wind leaves them slightly dry.

I have no interest in the stuff from the stick
but I'll sample some already applied
spread thinner, so I don't notice right away
and only after I've turned away
to continue up the bright reflection
of path ahead do I realize
as my lips come together
we've shared so much
more than whiteness
later smeared on my shirt sleeve.

Poem:
Ah, hiking. What fun! And why apply sunscreen-chapstick from the stick when lips are so much more fun to press together? Granted, I didn't wear that much chapstick this vacation (my lips seemed to be holding up pretty well), but the stuff I did wear seemed to help. It's so annoying how it dries out though. I guess maybe part of the reason my lips held up was because Rebecca was wearing plenty of chapstick, and I'm sure I stole some along with the kisses I nabbed.

Observation:
I seem prone to injure myself when trying to be humorous with my gestures. A couple years ago I was mocking my sister and crashed my bike in the process. Yesterday I was mimicking a rowing motion when I drilled my elbow into a rock table. I was instantly unable to feel anything below the elbow joint, and upon regaining feeling (a process that took a few minutes) I was pretty sure I preferred it numb. It was excruciating. I couldn't really bend my arm effectively until late this afternoon. And I even iced it last night. A sure sign something is pretty wrong with me is if I am icing. I'm terrible about it. I know it's a good idea, but I just don't do it. Yesterday was a bit scary, though. For a short while I thought I might have done something that might remain as a serious injury. I'm more optimistic today. Perhaps riding my bike on my newly-injured appendage wasn't the best idea, but I figured I wouldn't be bending my arm much. Well, while true, that was not quite accurate, since it continued to hurt whether or not I was bending it. You'd think the moral of this story would be to stop mimicking people, but I doubt it's sunk in. After all, my scrapes healed after my bike crash, and my elbow is bending already. I'm going to need a bit of a bigger threat to stop making fun of people.

Exercise:
Begin a story with "There was once a chance I didn't take..."

There was once a chance I didn't take. From the distance it looked like a modest tumbleweed as it rolled forward, but it picked up speed as it neared. So I stood in the path of the rushing future, braced and digging in my heels. It was a game of chicken, and I vowed I wouldn't flinch.  The crux bore down on me, growing as it neared, and at the last second, of its own accord, my body flung itself to the side. I landed in the safe ditch of mediocrity as the seeming-semi barreled by.  And when that one slipped by so easily, so naturally, the chances fled past in rush hour traffic, with no breaks into which I could interject.


Me:
I am officially back from vacation. I was unofficially back yesterday, but I returned at four in the morning, slept in, and then had to fit two bike rides, unpacking, and Fourth of July celebrations into the remaining hours. So today is the first real day I am back. And I have an entire week's trip to write about. So rather than include a veritable novel all at once, I'll just write about the last few days, since that's what I remember the best. And I'll go back to the beginning stuff later if I remember enough of it.
So I'll start with Thursday, because it was probably the most exciting day as far as events go. To set the scene, we had driven 8 miles down a rough gravel road in my Ford Fusion, which wasn't thrilled with the idea, but performed admirably the entire trip. (I believe I shall have to reward it with an oil change and a thorough cleaning.) Unfortunately, at the last occasion we had to fill our water, we neglected to fill all our available containers, so we spent the night thinking of ways to conserve what we had. Basically, we ate a bunch of fruit (of both the canned and fresh varieties.) So we had as much water as we were used to by the time morning rolled around. I carried a three liter camelbak, as well as a large and small bottle stuffed in its pockets.
We woke up and started packing so as to utilize the morning's coolness only to be approached by the only other person at the campground. Ever one to avoid interaction, I was instantly on the defensive. But this invasion was brought on by desperation. She said her spare tire was flat and inquired if we had anything which might help. I initially and reflexively answered no. But that was not strictly true. So with a "wait a minute," I said I actually had a bike pump and leapt into action. I was the hero of the morning for sure. And that was only the beginning of my heroics. We left for the trailhead down the gravel road, and because it was less than a mile away my car only threatened to fall apart once or twice. The trail was boring for the first mile or so, during which time we were just making our way to the canyon we would be exploring. In case you've never heard of Buckskin Gulch (understandable), it is the longest slot canyon around. It stretches upward of 12 miles, making it a bit longer than we anticipated having time for. I'll get some pictures of it up as soon as I get them off my camera, but you'll just have to take my word for it when I say it is an incredible place to hike. The walls seem to close in over your head with their height and the narrow, constricting canyon. The sun seeps in sometimes, turning the red rock into a bright, vibrant display of color. The flash floods that shape the canyon leave it in sharp wavy contours, and each turn offers new lighting and a different glimpse out to the pure azure sky. All in all, you are never looking down. Which, it just so happens, is the direction you want to be looking if you'd like to notice rattlesnakes.
We happened upon one around five miles in to our hike, and I was startled, which suddenly transformed into fear once I realized exactly what was going on. The events went down like this:
I heard a low hissing/rattling.
I grabbed Rebecca's arm and yanked her back while jumping back myself and uttering some not-so-nice things.
I see the rattlesnake a few feet from where I had been about to walk, re-secure my grip on Rebecca's arm, and force us a few more steps back.
Rebecca realizes she is quite afraid of snakes.
Rebecca starts gasping a bit and looks quite unhappy.
I realize Rebecca is quite afraid of snakes.
We wait for the snake to slither under the rock wall and edge past slowly.
Rebecca decides I saved the day.

Having saved the day twice now, I make sure to blemish my good name quite quickly after so as to keep expectations low. We find a snakeskin on the ground, and I pick it up and briefly chase Rebecca. Interestingly, this is the first time either of us knew how unhappy snakes make her. We encountered the snake on our way back out of the canyon (we turned around about six miles in, I think), which was again a bit of an event. I snapped some pictures, and we snuck by. A short while later we ran into some people headed down the trail, and they asked about snakes. I said there was one down the trail a short way, and they said they had already found one as well. This was news to us. We had obviously come from that direction and missed it. Which made us both happy and scared. Who knows how close we had come to that snake? Anyway, the walk back out was much less fun than the walk in. It is much harder to appreciate your surroundings (even the most beautiful ones) when you are checking every shadow for the faint outline of a snake.

From Buckskin Gulch we headed toward Zion National Park, which is where I shall resume talking tomorrow. The entire vacation was amazing, and I had a great time. The western United States never fails to make me happy. And sharing it with someone makes it even better.

Thanks, as always, for reading. Sorry for the hiatus, but I'm happy to say I'm back and plan on staying back for a while.

Well this is inconvenient

I am on vacation. I thought I might have time to write a bit here, but this is the first time, so obviously not. What I do have are plenty of things to talk about when I get back in a few days. Sorry for not alerting you fantastic readers sooner.

Unsuccessful Italian cyclist burnt by cold broth

Out of control

This skin stretched taught
Over bent bones
Can't lose itself
Can't unravel
With the pull of a thread
Until coils pile beneath
The framework
Left standing balanced
On slippery, calcified heels
Not suited for tile floors
And wobbly on shag carpeting

A sudden burn
And my hand snatches itself away
Before I can think
It would be a good idea.
And it leaves me wondering
How those synapses fire so fast
How my mind just barely catches up
To the rest of the world
Of which my body is only a part
Reacting on its own
To sudden stimuli
And pausing just enough for the rest of me
The part I think of as me
To catch on.

Poem:
I burned myself the other day. So there you go. And I'm on my phone, so this will be short. I just wanted to finish this post up and get it posted finally. Sorry for the delay.


Observation:
People don't like being taken for granted. I guess that makes sense on some levels, but I'm not sure it's as bad as everyone says it is. I think a distinction needs to be made. There is a huge difference between being taken for granted on a day-to-day basis and being taken for granted during something out of the ordinary. The first doesn't seem to be much a problem, while the second is disastrous. In fact, taking something for granted in a day to day scenario could easily be seen as a good thing. At that point, taking someone (or something) for granted is an indicator of reliability, not an indicator of lack of care. If I take breathing for granted, it is not because I don't care about breathing, but rather because I can't imagine not breathing. Similarly, if a person (say, an employer) takes you for granted, it is not necessarily a sign that they don't care you are there. Instead, you might take it to mean that you are so reliable they don't need to worry about you. In a relationship, therefore, taking the other person is a testament to how much you rely upon them. I am not offended when someone takes me for granted in this case, because it just means they know I'm not going anywhere.
Now, the second situation is another matter altogether. When you are taken for granted in a situation that is out of the ordinary (either good OR bad), I take that as an indicator there is something going poorly. Say an employee shows up late for work and nobody notices. Or if that employee comes in early and does more work than necessary on a project. Those are situations where a person deserves more attention, where taking them for granted is incorrect. Carrying the analogy forward, if a person in a relationship does something good or bad, it should be appreciated as such. So while it is not necessarily bad to take someone for granted, it can be hurtful. It is probably the case that most people are put into problem situations when these situations of "priority" don't line up properly. Take the stereotype of the woman in the kitchen. Now, I think it is awesome when people make me food. I appreciate it, and try not to take that for granted. But it seems obvious that that is something many people do (or have) take(n) for granted. And if both people agree that it is an everyday thing, I suppose it's fine. But if I make someone a five course meal (assuming I knew how to do that, or had any competency) and they take it for granted because that's how things always are for them, we're going to have some problems. So, like everything to do with interactions between people, it seems this boils down to communication. Go figure.


Exercise:

What is she thinking? What is she drinking?

She glanced up dubiously before taking a sip of the broth that had been offered her. The china was cool to the touch, and so, unfortunately, was the soup. It was an unwelcome break from her first day abroad. Florentine had hardly taken a sip when the sounds of the ocean outside forced her to break eye contact with the boy who brought the bowl. By the time she looked back (having satisfied herself that the seagulls were doing nothing but being seagulls after all), he had disappeared, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. She set the bowl down on a nearby endtable and returned to her book. She had an hour left before her appointment with the captain of a ship, and she wanted to brush up a bit on her nautical terms. She was a bit more nervous than she had thought she would be. Her trip to the coast had been pleasant so far, but now that the business portion was rolling around, the salty air was taking on a bit of a pungent with anticipation.

Me:
I did some more bicycle-related things this weekend. Friday was the race put on by my tea, Colorbiotics. It's called the Rose Festival Twilight Criterium, and while I am not very thrilled with the course (it has a few odd sections, one with gravel and potholes), it all turned out okay. I was talking with my teammate Kevin before the race and he asked me if I was going to try to break away from the beginning again, and I said sure, why not. Then I forgot that in order to try that, I would need to be at the start line. I realized I hadn't put any extra wheels at the start line in case of a flat tire, so I stopped to get that figured out. By the time I rolled up to the start line I was literally the last person there. So much for the "attack right away" plan. I spent the first two laps sitting near the back and gradually moving up, person by person. I attacked to the front and stayed there for a while before trying a move from there. I got a small gap, but was quickly brought back to the field. Then a few people started attacking. I didn't really want to chase them down, since if they stayed away it gave the race some purpose, and I felt strong enough to get there if it looked like they were strong. Two people attacked together, and then three more followed. The group of five had maybe five or six seconds on the rest of us. Then someone attacked the break, and we caught three of the five. The other two seemed to not be losing time, so right as the person at the front of my group stopped pulling hard, I attacked to try and bridge up to the two riders ahead. I think I chose a great time, because nobody came with me, and the field seemed to slow down with that guy's stoppage in effort. It took me two laps to make it up to the front, at which point I just hung on to the wheels of the two guys for another couple laps while I recovered from the effort. I attacked a bit to test them out, but they responded right away, so I didn't try anything else. We stayed away from the main field, though we didn't seem to pull away much more. With two laps to go one of the guys attacked. I was just starting to sprint to catch him when the other guy opened up his own sprint. So I sat on his wheel while he tired himself out. He wasn't strong enough to bring us all the way back to the guy up front, but I had saved myself while he went hard and was feeling fine. We got within eight meters of the guy right before a small rise in the road, and I attacked. I shot by the guy doing all the work, caught the guy up front and didn't look back. I was fortunate that the second rider decided to try and bring the attacker back by himself, since it set me up perfectly. They had both done way more work than me for an entire lap, so the last lap was all mine.
Saturday was a completely different story. It was a forty mile road race, and I was thinking it would be fine because I was strong the day before. So I attacked early and often. By the end of the first lap, we had shed half the field. At one point I thought three of us could get away, and we got a small gap, but were caught pretty shortly. I tried solo right after that, thinking all the strong people would be tired, but then we made a turn into the wind and I didn't have enough to stay away by myself. So we all sat there. If I wasn't doing something interesting, things just slowed down. Nobody attacked, nobody pulled hard, nobody really seemed like they wanted to race. I attacked one more time with eight miles to go, but didn't get any space. So it was going to come down to a sprint, and with the huge hill right before the finish, I was thinking I might still be okay. Then I got forced out of the pack by an erratic rider, couldn't get back in to find a draft, and my calf cramped, all in the last few miles. They opened the sprint up with almost a kilometer to go, which is way too early, and even though they all died out before the finish, I didn't have enough energy to stay on for the initial acceleration. So I finished a disappointing seventh.
That was all for racing, but yesterday I took my new cyclocross bike out for a test run. My suspicions were confirmed: I am going to be the worst cyclocross rider ever. At one point I was headed downhill and needed to make a right turn. I started to lean, and my tire slipped a little. Now, any decent rider would just lean into it and slide through the corner. I, however, slammed my brakes on, came to a near-stop, and took my own sweet time getting around the corner. What a disaster. The bike itself seems good, though. I'll be taking it on vacation when I leave on Friday, along with a set of road wheels. I haven't planned anything specific to do, but if I have time, I'll try to get on and get some more miles in before my return.

Lunar cow listens to iPod while injuring self

Isolation

Stone buildings echo nothing
Everyone has their own world
Boundaried by white plastic plugs
Stoppering sounds within
Defeaning silence without

Death is the lightest weight
Hardly noticed
Except when walking
Without headphones
Aross lonely openness

It bouys us
Gives us the option
To risk it all
For king and country
Because to hell with it
Life's short anyway

Poem:
My dad mentioned that someone he knows was in China recently and noticed that everyone there was "plugged in." They all had headphones, tablets, smartphones, etc, and I thought it fit in well with my last poem about how I distract myself using my phone. It's the same way on college campuses. People can't even make it from one class to another without turning on their music. Not that I'm an exception, of course. It's just odd how things change. I have walked through campus in the summer without distraction, and it's a really nice place. The campus is spacious, and a good combination of nature and function. But I'm pretty sure nobody notices it anymore as they go by bobbing their heads to the beat.

Observation:
Apparently disc golf is hazardous to my health. Last year I slipped on some stairs and ripped off the tip of my toe, which hurt a lot. Yesterday something even sillier happened. I have a bit of trouble with tendinitis in my right shoulder, so I have been playing left handed for the most part to avoid injury and just as a fun diversion. And it turns out I'm sometimes not terrible, but I haven't taken disc golf seriously in years, and don't really plan on playing the multiple rounds a day I used to. Anyway, I have been having a terrible time throwing forehands with my left hand since I've been trying to do it for ultimate, and it doesn't translate very well to disc golf. It's just a different angle you have to release the disc at, and I can't seem to get it down after learning the other way. But on this particular occasion I decided to give it everything I had and see what happened. Well, what happened was that I tried so hard that I fell off the tee. My shoes were muddy from the previus holes (and not blessed with good traction to begin with), and I flung myself into the motion with such vigor that my left foot slipped completely out from under me and I quite suddenly found myself sliding off the pad and into the mud in front. So I was covered in dirt, and my shin took the brunt of my fall, resulting in scrapes and bruising. And the funny thing? My disc flew further and straighter than it ever has. It went so well it flew past the hole and was lost to a water hazard. Just my luck. As my dad and I were walking down the fairway, I remarked that despite it going better than it ever has before, I probably wouldn't be repeating my methods anytime soon.

Exercise:
Use the first line of a nursery rhyme (take your pick) to start a story.

"Hey, Diddle Diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon."
Diddle Diddle looked up and grinned, while the cat just kept licking itself.
"It's been a while since that happened. That cow has been feeling a bit less springy since summer rolled around. It must be the heat got to her. But it's a cool night, so that could explain it. How much did she clear it by?"
The fiddle didn't say anything. It had no idea why it was included in the conversation to begin with.
Clarence looked up and tried to judge. "Oh, I'd say a couple of stars. See those two bright ones? I reckon she passed right between them."
Diddle Diddle cocked an eyebrow. "Not too shabby."
When the cow was in prime form, it wasn't uncommon for her to go a bit higher, but the worst was when she thought she was up for it and plowed right into the lunar surface. Oh sure, the craters looked cool and all (a bit like a face, really), but it wrecked havoc on the cowshoes. Clarence had started keeping a couple of extra sets around, especially in summer, but they just weren't as lucky as the horse variety.

Me:
I rode hills in the morning on Monday, then motorpaced in the afternoon. I didn't feel as bad as I anticipated, but was in for a rude awakening the next day when I tried to do, well, just about anything. My legs didn't hurt; they just refused to move. So I slogged out on my ride in the morning and lumbered around the handball court at night. But today I felt good again, and the group ride was fun. We didn't go very far because there are a few races coming right up that we want to do well at (as our team is putting them on). But it's fun to go out, have a good time, and feel a bit of the burn. And I won a couple of sprints, which is a nice confidence boost. I don't have much else to say about me currently. My shin is a bit tender, but I feel stupid complaining about it because I FELL OVER ALL BY MYSELF ON A COMPLETELY LEVEL SURFACE DOING SOMETHING I'VE DONE HUNDREDS OF TIMES. So that's a bit silly.
I really enjoyed the exercise I selected for today. I felt creative/funny, and when I'm in that mood I generally like what comes out of my brain. Of course, it would be cool if it were funny to other people too (the bit about spring leaving in summer, naming my character Diddle Diddle to have a shot at the rhyme making any sort of sense, and cowshoes, to name a few things I'm sure are a bit of a stretch), but hey, if I'm the only one laughing, I'll still consider it a success. And with that, I'll say good night. Thanks for reading, as always.

Sad muscular men ride kittens to undistracted victory

 Undistracted

The stillness vibrates
Soundless air too empty
To remain still.
The thunder of eyelashes
Colliding in blackness
Echoes in my empty mind
As dim lights gleam
Off metal scraps
And mentality alternates
Between throbbing foreground
And backgrounded thoughts.

My heart announces itself
In my eardrums
Steadily increasing its pace
As reality shrinks in,
Glinting metal melding into
White walls, replacing pictures
With shadowed shapes

Unbearable
Headphones convey life's soundtrack
Drowning out my mortal heart
With unsteady beats of bass
Intangibility replaces
Real walls and shining splinters
Sheltering my mind
From the void of closed eyes.

Poem:
It has been obvious to almost anyone that I'm constantly on my phone. The reason for this is that if I don't constantly distract myself with something, my mind wanders to odd things that I hardly ever feel like thinking about. So rather than take the chance, I give it no choice but to focus on something inane. I think if I want to write well, though, I'm going to have to start weaning myself from my technology. I can write a bit with music playing, but it's never my best work. And I never have interesting thoughts until I unplug myself. I'm so unused to just sitting and thinking that I'm sure it will feel strange, and I might even get scolded for being lazy, but I'm pretty sure it's necessary. The real trick will be not falling asleep. I'm pretty sure that's my Pavlovian response at this point to turning off my phone. The only time it happens is right before bed. When it's off, it means I'm tired enough to sleep, and I'm not sure I will be able to have it off without napping. We'll see.

Observation:
I looked at my phone recently and realized I've taken hundreds of pictures with it. So because I don't really have a plan for what to write about, I thought I'd include a few to talk about.

The photos for today are of my mom's cat Fuso. I don't feel as thought they accurately portray the animal at all, but they're pretty funny.

Let me clarify. It's not that they portray it in too unintelligent a light. It's more that they don't show the side of the animal that is constantly hissing at me and baring its teeth. This cat seems to only be dormant about five percent of the time. That time rarely coincides with times I want it to happen. He is capable of yowling nearly constantly for hours at a time if he thinks there is even a chance it might affect his situation. This has resulted in him being relocated to the basement at night, since he is incredibly annoying early in the morning, and if you don't provide at least a floor of separation he will sit outside any closed door and be just as annoying as if he were licking your face. But this picture shows him in a different light, where he somehow decided that he was the right size for that box. I had to snap the photo.

Every once in a while, I am able to manipulate a cat into doing something I want. This time, Fuso was playing with the sandals (why he would do that, I have no idea), and my dad and I scratched at the floor on either side until he tried to paw our hands by reaching through. Then we kept him distracted until the picture could be taken. Adorableness ensued.

Exercise:
From any book or magazine, take 2 lines and 10 other words, all randomly chosen. Using this as your raw material, rearranging in any way, what can you write in 5 minutes?
Four others had fled the scene and have since remained anonymous.
Why he was crying he couldn't fathom.
Finally, Affirming, Pursed, Truth, Slightest, Green, Thick, Rich, Pass, Threadbare
Josh pursed his lips, the slightest green tinge crawling down his face and passing into his thick neck. His muscular shoulders heaved, the threadbare shirt doing a poor job of either covering or soaking up his sorrow. Why he was crying he couldn't fathom. He was just passing by. These rich folks didn't care about him, and any other man in his situation would be glad they finally got what was coming to them. When the police asked their questions he nodded, affirming what they suspected. One gang member lay on the street, unconscious or worse he couldn't tell, but others had gotten away. He heard a man on the tv say later, "four others had fled the scene, and have since remained anonymous."

Me:
I won a race this weekend. It has been a while since that happened, and I certainly wasn't expecting it to happen on a course with no hills or anything, but I guess it all started with a haircut. That's what my mom said anyway. I had quite a bit of confidence from that fast ride I did on Friday, and I knew the course for the criterium Saturday was flat, so I just gave it everything pretty much from the beginning, knowing I could go twenty-five or more the entire time. In fact, as we were all on the line waiting for the race to start, my teammate Gavin asked if I was going to go right from the whistle. I said only if I could get my foot into the pedal, since that was a severely limiting factor over the Memorial Day race weekend. Well, I did, and I sprinted for a while to start the race. I got caught quickly, but went hard again as we came across the line for the first time. I got another gap, and this one stuck for a bit more than a lap before the field made up the ground. Gavin took over soon after that, making sure the pace didn't fall too much. It might have been better if he had attacked hard enough to get a decent gap, but it set me up well to go again soon after that. I was joined by Mark Beatty off the front, but I wasn't quite willing to kill myself to stay away at that point. It seemed like I could get a break when I wanted, and it wasn't worth risking giving it everything in case we were caught later. So once again, I rejoined the pack. This time I sat in for a couple of laps, but when the pace slowed, I kept attacking. This happened two or three more times. At one point I was just pulling through to the front because it was slow (but not attacking) and a guy said "watch out, he's going to attack." Flattering as it was, I didn't oblige. I kept up the shenanigans until four laps to go, and then started waiting for a good time to make an all-out move for the finish. Gavin attacked with three laps to go, and when he was caught, I was set up perfectly for my move. I went with two to go, and nobody responded. I gave it just about everything, I had, looked back, and still had a gap with three corners left. I looked back before the second to last corner to see Mark (from earier) charging strong off the front. Before the last corner he had gotten about halfway from the field to me, and I gave the sprint everything I had left. I guess it didn't wind up being that close, but it was a bit intimidating trying to win from so far out.
I kinda collapsed after the race briefly, but my legs felt okay the rest of the night. That carried over to this morning, where I played some of the best handball I've played in a long time. So based on the way things have been going, it certainly seems like the haircut was the key. My mom's theory seems to hold water for now. Of course, if things keep going well, I'll have to start cutting my hair every other day or so...
Speaking of my mom, she raced and got money too. It helped that not enough women showed up to fill the prize list, but she certainly wasn't slower than the other ladies in the race. She never really caught on to the group, though, and chased the whole race. But she didn't lose much time on them, and looked good from what I could see. My dad was in my race, and I looked back a couple of times to see him on my wheel, which was cool. One time I was moving up the pack, and some guy said "here's a lead-out," which I thought was pretty amusing. We still had nine laps to go! That would have been some lead out. But talking to my dad after the race, he said he was doing a good job of keeping people off my wheel, and was able to get to the front to disorganize any effort to chase me when I went with two to go. It's great to have teammates, even cooler that some of them are my family!

Turns out this was in the wrong blog! Whoops!

Moving boxes

They must weigh as much as I do

those boxes of photographs

glistening out with colors

so much less vibrant than memory

but better than forgetting.

Washed out smiles and poses

more awkward in retrospect,

not at all jaunty or casual,

but proof nonetheless

of proud presence

at pristine points of interest.

Boxes and albums are bulky,

seldom opened, flipped through

only during a rare relocation

to a less obtrusive locale,

gradually stowed in less

accessible places

until they are only uncovered

in an all-out unearthing.

Disposable cameras

wound up and carried everywhere

clicks converted into

disposable memories

with no convenient hours to waste

in recollection.

Poem:

I was moving some stuff around in the basement trying to get my computer set up and came across hundreds of photographs. They were surprisingly heavy. What struck me immediately was how awkward all the smiles and postures were. The scenes were all nice in that they provoked the memories of the places, but disappointing in how little of the color and ambiance actually wound up on paper. What the photos mostly succeeded in doing was making me want to go back to those places. And I was surprised how easy it is to get caught up in looking at the past, even if the color vibrancy isn't up to snuff.

Observation:

Sunday at my bike race we were parked next to a Toyota Corolla. But this wasn't just any Toyota Corolla. This was the Toyota Corolla S. You know, the sports edition. It's a Corolla, for Pete's sake! The engine is a 1.8 liter, four-cylinder piece of mediocrity that generates a whopping 132 horsepower. This is good enough for a 0-60 time of over nine seconds. I have no idea what would prompt someone to purchase this car. It even had a spoiler on the back. Because when you're topping out at its electronically limited 110 mph, you really need that extra downforce on the back wheels to improve handling. Nothing about this car is sporty, and with the sports package, it just looks ridiculous. It loses the only good quality it has going for it (modest reliability) and only serves to show off the poor decision-making of the owner. The fact that it was at a bike race was peculiar, since the person probably used their really slow “sports” car to transport an actually fast bike.

Exercise:

“Put an athlete, artist, and a fitness instructor in a museum. Add in a broken window and a crooked painting. One of the three panics. Write out the scene.”

Bob rarely frequented museums. They just weren't his thing, but when an exhibit about the human body went on display at the local museum of science, he figured he could at least check it out. Unfortunately, that particular exhibit only took about thirty minutes to comprehend fully. As it turns out, once you've seen one or two skinless bodies, you've pretty much seen them all. So here he was looking at some sort of odd coloring on a canvas, and the perplexity it was inducing was disconcerting. The painting wasn't even hung on the wall properly, hanging significantly askew, but only slightly, as though hung poorly. Bob, being the concerned man that he was, casually reached out and made the slight adjustment to bring it to a level plane. This naturally set off the alarms, and within a few seconds Bob found himself underneath a rather large man in sweats. Being tackled by a football player hurt a lot more than he thought it would. He looked up as the stars cleared and the alarm abated to see a crowd of people gathering above him. Even the artist doing an imitation work of a painting in the next room was peeking around the corner. The black guy glared at him as he got up, saying he had just sprung into action in case Bob was trying to do something more serious. Bob got up and brushed himself off, apologizing profusely. He bade a hasty retreat, only to see the aforementioned artist smiling at him. "I like it better that way anyway." Bob grinned and kept walking, trying to appear casual. Unfortunately, in the process, he walked into a glass door, the kind with handles attached somewhat mysteriously to the door. It shattered, and he did the only thing he could think of: he ran.

Me:

I was at a little race yesterday, but before the event got going, I was in need of a bathroom stop. Much to my disappointment, the closest accommodation came without a door to the stall. The stall divider thing wasn't even long enough to cover my whole body. So I was sitting there with my head poking around the corner and hoping nobody else decided they needed to use that particular bathroom at that particular time. Luckily, the whole thing became less of a problem due to the fact I had diarrhea at the time. So I was done practically within seconds and back on my way to the bike race, which went unremarkably. Naturally, I shall remark on it anyway: I got dropped in the first race, being unprepared for the pace and proximity of racing against good cyclists. The next race was a points race, and I did what I always do, attacking after an intermediate sprint and going solo for a couple of laps. Apparently I even got some points, though I had no idea at the time due to poor announcement on the part of the race organizers. And speaking of the race organizers, the announcer was incredibly disappointing. The highlight was probably when he said the three women in my mom's race that finished in front of her won because they had the most experience. Apparently having just come out of the juniors categories or racing a couple of years counts more than five US records. The announcer alternated between incorrect things and inanely obvious ones. Which, in turn, alternated between humorous and irritating, though the two didn't necessarily line up with the incorrect or obvious. Some obvious things were humorous (it's usually one decisive move that decides the race), while others were not. But the inanity was generally irritating. The prime example was attention being drawn to the way a number was pinned to a girl's jersey. For multiple laps. It was unbearable enough to make me uneager to return.

The last race was structured so that the last two riders of every lap were pulled until they got to five. I stayed in until there were nine of us before suddenly realizing I was quite tired. So I got today off (though the rain would have assured that anyway), and hopefully all of the training I did this week will pay off next weekend, the biggest weekend of racing for the year.

Motorpacing ants in 3D

I've decided my post titles will be much more entertaining if I just combine what I'm talking about into a crazy amalgam of an idea. More entertaining for me, perhaps more intriguing for you?

Motorpacing

I don't know whether physics is confusing
Or just preposterous
As drops of sweat fall horizontal
And bend upward again
Only to stop suddenly
Waiting for my face
To catch up instantly
And stinging my eyes
As they end their journey
Just two inches from the 
Brow where they originated
Dribbling down my chin
Coating my lips
With caked-on whiteness
As I suffer behind the car
At thirty-five miles per hour

The brief vacuum behind
The red bumper
snatches salty drops
And sucks them in
toward the open hatch
The trunk ajar
And the interior hovering
Inches in front
An odd constant scenery
As the pavement cracks
whip past underneath
And bumps in the road
prove the only reminders
That we're making rapid progress
Since the cupholder between the chairs
Remains perfectly still

Poem:
I went motorpacing and couldn't for the life of my figure out how I was getting drops of water splashed on my constantly. Then I saw a drop of sweat leap off my cheek, fly forward faster than I was, loop around, and hit me in the shoulder. I was fascinated. There didn't seem to be any way to predict how they would behave. Some would drop down to the ground, some would shoot off to the side, and some changed directions twice before I lost sight of them. I don't think I've done too great a job getting the description right, but the experience is so brief I have trouble slowing it down in my mind to do it justice.

Observation:
There have been a lot of technology things happening recently, so I thought I'd talk about some of the cool things I've been hearing about. The first is that the three-dimensional television screens are cool for a way different reason than I was thinking about. Because the 3D technology works by sending slightly different images to each eye (forcing them to combine the two into a perspective with depth) it's possible to get two people to see different images on the same screen. The way this is accomplished is by giving one person the equivalent of two "right-eyed" lenses from a pair of glasses, and the other person two for the "left eye." because they block out the image the other person sees, they will wind up with a two-dimensional image of completely different pictures. So one person can be watching something else happen. This is mostly interesting for video games, where shared sounds make a bit more sense, but if you had headphones, you could each watch completely different things. Of course, at that point there's no good reason not to get two televisions. The technology is pretty awesome though.
Another cool little thing is the case I just got for my phone. It has a battery built in, and I let my phone run out of battery and it's been charging off the case for the past four hours, bringing it all the way back up to full charge. I'm thoroughly impressed. It's a bit bulkier than other cases, but doubling my battery life is worth it for sure, especially since I'm going on a vacation soon-ish.

Exercise:
Use all these words in a story: priest, ring, garden, magnifying glass

As the priest pronounced them man and wife, all the ring bearer could see were the ants. The beaming smiles and all-too-modest kiss drew applause from the grown ups, which released his hand briefly. That was all he needed. Sam ducked into unobtrusiveness and hunched his way over to the trail of little figures. They were single file but for one rogue, which branched off from the scent trail. Sam followed the line backwards until it departed from the main walk, diverted onto a side path of loosely set brick. There, in the middle of the garden, he sat surrounded by all the classic wedding flowers. Lilies, daisies, and tulips all lined the bricks, some potted for easy setting manipulation, ready to be shuttled to the reception area or the church entrance should the need arise.
Sam reached into his pockets one by one, starting with his pants. By the time he checked his little tux coat, his search had become a bit frantic, and he patted himself all over before reaching in to the inside breast pocket and removing a little multi-tool, the kind given to kids at science centers to inspire enthusiasm with education. He flipped open it's cheap plastic magnifying glass, found a patch of sun, and with the ease brought on by long practice, directed a concentrated beam of light at the shell of one unfortunate drone. It sizzled briefly, threw off a spark, and the ants behind just continued by unfazed. Even at that age, that was what Sam found remarkable. He had just watched two people vow to care for one another as long as they both should live, and yet here, only fifteen yards away, the ants marched by affected. Sam knew people were like ants in some places. He had been to the city, seen the homeless being ignored, seen the suits stroll past in line. But he had also had an ant farm, and knew that while some people were like ants, there were no ants like people. There were no secluded church gardens, no wedding vows, no pauses in the march. He considered this as he absentmindedly torched another ant, it's thorax bursting in a miniature testament to apathy.

Me:
I didn't bike yesterday due to the weather, and the day off apparently made me quite ready to ride today. My dad said it was the fastest ride he's been on in a long time, and we averaged 22.1 mph for the whole thing, including the in-town stuff. Which means out on-road average was somewhere around 25? I guess. That's pretty good for me. I just hope my legs feel good for my race tomorrow. It's a perfectly flat course, so I'm not thrilled, but I did well there two years ago, so we'll see.
In a good news/break from complaining section, my fingers have finally stopped hurting. It's taken like three months, but the two I dislocated playing handball are now almost entirely pain free. They don't have quite a normal range of flexibiliy yet, but I noticed the last two or three times I've been on a handball court that they're not affecting my shots any more. Nw if I could get my feet moving how I want, I'd be back up to snuff. A combination of tired legs and overconfidence has resulted in me focusing less on the mechanics I know I could be improving. But my left hand has kept improving, so at least some progress continues to be made.

Just some stuff

spilt milk

I was always sure
Hers would be the next call
Delayed with some excuse
Errands, car trouble,
Dead phone

I was always hers
Until that last call
The one that meant no more
Calls were coming,
The one that ripped
The bowl of cereal
From my hands
And slammed it
On the laminated floor
Cornflakes floating
Like life rafts
On the spreading sea of milk
Blueberry islands
And porcelain-piece
Prominences projecting
Into the whiteness
As it made its way
Under the refrigerator

And I sank down and sat
Right in it
My slippered feet sliding
A bit as I splotched down
The wave of milk rolled
Blueberry islands in arcs
As the drips landed
Clear salt water
Homogenizing quickly
As it rippled into spilt milk.

Poem:
I decided to try mentally putting myself in other situations in an effort to think about how I would react to various things. I seem to be lacking most of the traumatic experiences that form staples in the lives of many writers, so this was my attempt at imagination. I was watching tv and saw a girl whose fiancé was killed in a car crash, and I wondered what I would do with a phone call of that magnitude. I thought of not hearing from someone you were expecting to, only to receive that sort of news. And this is what I came up with as an in-the-moment sort of scene. I'm still completely unsure how I would actually react. I think it would take quite a bit longer for it to actually sink in, though. But this just seemed fitting.

Observation:
You know how movies are always predictable? The good guys win, happily ever after, that sort of stuff? Well I watched "The English Patient" and "Biutiful" on consecutive nights, and that was about enough to dispel that notion for a while. Oh boy were those movies depressing. At least the former had a plot and a story to it, though. Biutiful was just an exercise in futility. Watching some guy try to do what he can with what he has, only to have it all fall apart as he is ripped to pieces by cancer was not what I was hoping for when I sat down to watch. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that it was a foreign film, but I just wasn't ready for any of it. Of course, the fact that it was all subtitled made it a bit easier to ignore the emotions that were going on, so at least it didn't hit me with quite the force of a movie in English.
I don't usually get sucked in to movies. I guess I have a hard time imagining what the characters might be thinking or experiencing, or maybe it's just too easy to remember it's all just a movie, but for some reason that didn't happen with "The English Patient." I don't think the acting was all that incredible, really, but for some reason, I just couldn't prevent myself from feeling a crazy amount of emotion during that movie. I guess it's designed to do that, but hey, it succeeded. I'm sure glad the whole tragedy as a popular Hollywood genre hasn't gained more momentum. Especially because it's not always easy to tell that a movie is going to be sad. Based on the descriptions I received for these movies, I had an idea they weren't cheerful, but nothing prepared me for the all-out depression they conveyed. So if more movies hit theaters with trailers that left the whole tragedy thing ambiguous, I'm sure I would wind up mistakenly going to one when I wasn't prepared for it, and who knows what that might lead to. Ice cream could vanish from the Ames area, a chocolate shortage could strike, and my snores from excessive nap times could prove most annoying.

Exercise:
Let me preface this prompt by saying I have no idea what I was thinking when I chose it other than, "that's odd."

In 250 words, write from the point of view of a strand of hair

Today was not a good hair day. Oh sure, the guy with the scissors didn't seem to mind the outcome, but as far as Claudio was concerned, today was a disaster. Not only had he been forced to watch as some of his closest friends we hacked to bits, but, even having avoided the scissors (at least for now, though the first post-haircut shower might reveal his rebellion), there was nothing he could do about the gel. It wasn't so bad at first. Certainly it was no worse than the normal pain of being forcibly separated from his family and friends by a long-toothed comb. But then it started to set in. The wind rushing past ceased to have any effect, and Claudio, suddenly deprived of his swaying, felt the true meaning of loneliness. His friends were beneath him, almost too short to notice, and rather than leaving him free to feel the full measure of the glorious wind, the guy had deprived him of movement, locking him in a layer of clear solidity to watch as his compatriots floundered below. Obviously there was nothing he could do. Any sort of rebellion took thousands of allies, and usually an entire night of planning. Oh sure, there was the sudden uprising they had pulled off with only an hour's prep time, but that had been aided by a shower and an untimely nap. Claudio was helpless.

Me:
As is probably evident, I made time to blog today. I also had a great conversation with my mom at work about quite a variety of things. As a result, I think I have come to the conclusion that it's worth pursuing writing a bit further. It occurred to me that between the two blogs I've written, I have enough words to have turned out a book. And while I've been rejected from all the writing schools I've applied to, I think it's still worth a shot. And I think having this time away from writing has been a good thing. I've started thinking "creatively" again recently, and while college classes were really interesting and a great way to force myself to write, the break I have had has been welcome too. So I'll start carrying around my notebook again, and we'll see what comes of it. The exercise section of my blog might be commandeered for brief sections of pieces, but in all likelihood, I'll wait until something is completed before letting anyone know. The only impact this might have as far as this blog is concerned is that I might update a bit less frequently, or if not, I might just include whatever I've written that day, which would depart from the whole four-section thing I have going.

Tired

Me:
Golly gee willikers. I've been doing a rather poor job of getting this updated. I was sure my schedule was going to be stabilizing, and then I had to go to work on a consistent basis. Who'd have thought a job would require time? And it wouldn't be so bad, but I biked in the morning the past two days, and then went off to other activities in the afternoon. Monday was lawn mowing and frisbee day, which lasted long enough to exhaust me to the point where all I could really bring myself to do was watch a movie, and today I biked for a second time in the afternoon, and then was off to handball until 10:00. So now it's late, I'm really tired, but do want to update. I plan on getting to it tomorrow, but I'm working again, and have a long bike ride in the evening, so I can't quite promise it will occur.

In which schedules are tricky

Titans clash on mars-red earth
A world white-outlined
Yet theirs to define
As a past greatness
Meets a meets a present surge
Independent from
Unaware of
The waiting breath
The hands held inches apart
Waiting for collapse.

Clouds kicked into the sky
As earth is knocked out
Of sluggish sliding shoes
Combining opposites
Entwining brick
With once-clear air
A construction site
Where greatness is built
At the horizon
Of the high-flying
And the pounding ground.

Poem:
I'm watching the French Open during my first bout of free time in quite a while. It's Djokovic and Federer, and it's incredible what these guys can do. I really believe Federer is the greatest player of all time, with the most complete game, the most class, and the most elegance on and off the court. But Djokovic is undefeated this year, and Federer is almost thirty years old. So it's sort of a clash between the ages. The clay surface is an interesting dynamic, and it has detrimental effects on both players. The sliding, the awkwardness it causes, serve to make it interesting on multiple levels, and the mental dynamic results in streaks of brilliance and comfortability alternating with frustration and seeming impotence. My poem is a bit obscure because I guess a poem saying tennis is fun to watch and clay makes it interesting too was just a little too basic. But maybe the obscurity of poetry is a bit gratuitous at times, so I'm sorry if it seems that way.

Observation:
I biked across the country a few years ago, and had quite a few people follow me on a blog then. I thought that was awesome, and it was a bit of a motivation for starting this one. But I never thought I would encounter someone who had followed that other blog, let alone have them come up to me years later on the street and talk to me a bit out of the blue. I had just finished a bike race this weekend when this lady came up from behind me and asked if I was Ryan. When I responded in the affirmative, she said she had followed my blog as I rode across the country and enjoyed my commentary. Especially the bits about Nutella. In fact, she had tried it for the first time and had one of her friends try it all because of my recommendations (read: unbridled adorations). The experience totally made my day. Unfortunately, I have stopped eating Nutella for the most part, which has made me a bit less consistent in my promotion. I just haven't been active enough recently to warrant consuming that many calories. That might be changing, though. I'll be sure to let you know.

Exercise:
Why would an antiques dealer leave town?

He was an antique himself by the time he finally left his shop behind. The sun of a Sunday afternoon glinted off the storefront windows, barely letting the stuff inside peek out. The yellow tinge on his skin might be called by those in the business a "fantastic patina indicating authenticity." His hands were both callused from years spent moving furniture and nimble from exploring the intricacies of delicate curiosities. A pocket watch reluctantly exposed its inner workings, and with a few knowledgeable manipulations, resumed ticking, though the loud acknowledgment of seconds passing bore a rather heavy reminder that time was always of the essence. So as he locked the glass door behind him, he didn't bother peering through the window at the world of objects he was leaving behind. He put the ticking watch into his pocket and strode to his decidedly new car. He took off his tweed jacket and immediately his persona seemed to shift from the archaic expert in antiquities to that of an eccentric with just a little more money than he knew how to spend. His car hummed open, the door thudded shut behind him, and with an ambitious rev, he started on his way. He had enjoyed his role as the local old humdrum with too much time and too many stories, but it was finally time to get away. He tossed his fedora out the window, put on some sunglasses, and headed for parts unknown.

Me:
I raced my bike four days last weekend, so I guess I'll start there. Friday was a 52 mile road race, and I was up against category threes and fours. Since I am a four, I was a little nervous, but it turned out that there were no strenuous parts of the race to worry about. The only people that weren't there at the finish line were the ones with flat tires or other issues unrelated to fitness. And when it comes to a forty person field sprint, I am not the person to be betting on, so I finished in the middle of the pack.
Saturday was Snake Alley. I've been looking forward to this race for a while, as it has one of the most well-known hills in the region. Unfortunately, the hill is well-known for a variety of reasons, not just for its difficulty. One of these reasons is the narrowness of the winding hill. This didn't seem to be an issue for the other races I watched on the course, so I was mostly concerned about the downhill. And then my race started, and the first time into the alley there was a crash that forced me off my bike. I got back on, almost a minute behind the leaders, and started trying to catch up. The second time up the hill, another person crashed right in front of me. I thought about giving up at that point and saving myself for my next races, but the course seemed to suit me and I just wanted to keep going. So I did, and then I ran into a curb on my fourth time up. So I stopped a total of three times. And then with three laps to go it started raining pretty hard. Nobody had traction on the brick for the climb, and I was terrified of descending aggressively in the rain, so I gave up a couple of positions and couldn't catch the leaders. But I finished tenth, which was pretty decent considering what I went through. I heard someone say at the top of the hill I was in the mid-forties as far as placing was concerned in the early going. Making up thirty places after all that silly stuff was good enough for me. My dad said I was turning out the fastest lap times of anyone on the course, so I was content.
Sunday I attacked to bridge up to a strong rider off the front. Travis Jass is a well-known powerhouse in the Iowa area, and I thought we could make the break stick. I hesitated to give it my all, though, and we got caught with two to go. Luckily, I had a little energy left, and on the last lap I was moving up the outside on the hill before the finish when another crash happened. How someone managed to crash on a straight section of uphill I have no idea, but it took me out of contention. I had tried something ambitious, though, so at least I had that good experience under my belt.
Monday I got caught behind two more crashes, bringing my weekend to a disappointing end. I guess I'm lucky to have stayed upright throughout all the flying people and bicycles I encountered, but I'm more frustrated than anything. It was, however, really cool to watch Kevin Severs ride with the pros on Monday. He did a great job, and when I talked to him after he had this to say: "It didn't feel like it was all that hard, but when I looked at my computer readout, my average heart rate was 193." It had been awesome to watch him go from a new rider to a category two, and I can't wait to see if he is able to make it at the highest levels.
So I got back late Monday, spent most of the rest of the week either at work, on the bike, or asleep, and am back at it now with some time to write. Nothing important going on this weekend though, so things should be back on schedule for next week. The whole Monday being a holiday thing just messed things up a bit, since I still had to work two days and rode my bike enough to leave me too exhausted to try any late-night catchup on blogging.

Normal post, a day late

Today is just another
Day he spent dying,
Which is what every wasted
Minute felt like.
Every wasted night
Every hungover morning
When the sheets clung,
Clutched, stuck to skin
And tried to trail
Into the bathroom
A mocking cape of mediocrity.

Joints creaked
Every step a jolt,
Cartilage long gone
Bone on bone,
Back to the grindstone.

Poem:
A bit depressing I suppose, but it's just where my train of thought wound up going. I sort of wrote this line by line, with whatever sounded like it would follow the line before it well.

Observation:
So the world is still intact as far as I can tell. This is good news. It's probably good news every day, but with the threat of rapture having passed last weekend, it's a bit more of a relief than usual. So I was having a good time making fun of the fact that the prediction was wrong and looking at rapture bomb photos (google it; it's funny), when it occurred to me: maybe the rapture did happen. Maybe all of the deserving people did go to heaven. And when somebody says "but everyone's still here" I'll just say "exactly."

Exercise:
Write a fictional news story about an adoption agency selling shaved apes as babies.

A new scam has been cropping up recently in many major cities as environmentalists begin to realize how little people really understand about primates. The movement reportedly began as a joke, with one ape baby substituted for a human child just for humor's sake. However, when the mother hardly seemed to notice the problem, conservationists everywhere saw an opportunity. They underwent the process of infiltrating many major organizations and gradually distributed the apes to foster parents. Apparently there plan was to reveal the identities of the "children" in order to garner sympathy and attention for the plight of their species. This plan backfired, however, when it turned out the apes were better liked and more intelligent than the babies they replaced. When the trick was tried in reverse, though, the apes would have none of it, resulting in numerous infants being hurled a remarkable distance.

Me:
I meant to have this up yesterday but fell asleep instead. But it turns out I'm leaving for bike races in the morning on Friday, so I probably won't update then, making this a good delay. It sort of fills in for both days. I have four races in four days this weekend, which could be a disaster. The biggest weekend of the season by far, so hopefully I stay upright. Not a lot else to say. I'll give a bit of a report either during the weekend or after it's all over. Stay tuned for news, I suppose. Thanks as always for reading!