Looks like I have free time OR A post about self-pity

I haven't been posting here for a variety of small reasons. I tell myself I don't have time, or that I'm never going to actually be a writer, or that I'm not up for the obligation of posting regularly. Sometimes I don't post because I feel like being defiant. And these things have made me realize that this HAD become a blog for some of the wrong reasons. Now, for a bad segue.

I listen to Starcraft 2 commentary. Starcraft 2 is a video game, and while I have only played it a few times (to little success), I find it fascinating. The premise is that you have to build an army starting basically from scratch while managing your resources and technology to gain an advantage over your opponent, who is trying to do the same thing. It falls into the genre RTS (Real-Time Strategy) because all of  It's played professionally, most notably in Korea, where it is televised and the teams have 16 hour-a-day practice regimens. Anyway, the most famous commentator/castor is a guy named Sean Plott. His screen name (and name he is known by to almost everyone) is Day[9]. I would definitely recommend you watch his video My Life of Starcraft, no matter whether or not you are interested in the game, or even interested in games in general. It can be found here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJztfsXKcPQ    It's almost two hours long, so it's not to be undertaken lightly, but it's worth it. This paragraph has been leading up to the fact that Day[9], when talking about reasons for wanting to play Starcraft, said something along the lines of: you have to enjoy every aspect of it. You have to enjoy working on splitting your workers (the first thing you do in the game, a routine action), much like to be a good author you have to enjoy writing individual sentences. You can't want to play Starcraft because you want to be good at Starcraft and be a pro, just as a writer can't write because they want to have a bestseller. (I don't think that quote is in the video I linked, but that video is amazing anyway.)

The point is: I enjoy writing sentences. I love making little internal jokes inside my work that I know nobody else will pick up on. I don't leave a sentence in my writing if I see a way it can be improved upon. The way words flow together, the way the rhythms of sentences form, and even the use of parentheticals versus commas intrigues me. I enjoy the craft that is writing. So from now on, when I blog, it won't be because I felt obliged. And it won't be because I want people to read it. Which also means I won't be adhering to my little POEM setup anymore. Yes, I still plan on including poetry. I just don't want to be confined. I've decided it's not about forcing myself to write (as it says in my blog description), but about giving myself an outlet. Therefore, if I stop feeling like writing, there will be breaks. I might not update for a while. I'll try and let my readers know, though. I don't like having my blog in the back of my mind while I'm doing other things, the four other pairs of eyes that read it burning into the back of my skull as I guiltily play Magic: The Gathering. And I'm going to write whatever I want (as usual, I suppose). Unfortunately for you, that starts now.

The title of my post refers (obviously to those of you who know me) to the fact that my girlfriend broke up with me. Yup, the very same girlfriend I took that amazing vacation with. When people ask me why (sometimes with that look which conveys "how did you screw that up? She was so nice!") I get to say, "I guess she preemptively broke things off, knowing I'd probably react badly when she told me about the times she cheated on me." So that's the cause of the free time (and probably the self-pity) mentioned in the title. And because the termination of a two-year relationship is obviously affecting me, you'll probably get to hear more about it if you decide to keep reading this blog. But I will try not to harp on it too much (though you might justifiably avoid reading for the next few days, just to be safe).

While I do have more time now that I'm not in a relationship (and consequently not playing frisbee due to not being able to look at her and the guys she decided were more important than me), I do have the LSAT coming up next weekend, so I will be spending a decent amount of time in preparing for that. You know, so I have an excuse at the ready in case I don't find my way back here as promptly as I thought.

So without further ado, a bit of a blog post:

Not About Pillows

People sometimes punch pillows
frustrated, screaming into them
to dull the sounds of sudden emotion
roiling through, released into the fabric
accompanied by dribbles of spit
and unceremonious tears.

Apparently, I shatter bicycle helmets.

An interesting analog to pillow-punching
and noisier than yelling,
the smash of plastic on cement
a harsh but empty echo
off the metal garage door

At least I know now helmets do their job
as I pick it up and examine its single dent
before bending over,
fingers wedged in the vents
and rip it apart
the plastic shell and polystyrene foam
evidently not designed to resist
the particular force I am exerting
though whether it's due to it being lateral
or emotional
I couldn't say.

I straighten, dropping the pile
of once-helmet, left wondering
what the attraction was in the first place.

Poem:
Pretty sure this doesn't need explanation, but in retrospect the series of actions/thoughts was pretty amusing. I got home, put my bike in the garage, and took my helmet off in a perfectly normal manner. Then I started to walk inside, paused, and what I honestly thought was: "This helmet is pretty old, and I don't really need to use it. And I'm pretty sure smashing things is supposed to make people feel better. Well, here goes!" I really took the time to analyze the particulars, and came to the conclusion it was the best option. THEN, and only then, did I cock my arm up and windmill it into the floor by its straps. It bounced quite a ways, but didn't actually seem much the worse for wear. So I set into it, and ripped it apart. And it DID make me feel something other than what I was trying to avoid, but unfortunately I also felt a bit aggressive, and sort of like smashing more things. I looked around briefly, but didn't see anything else that was really all that expendable, so I went inside and started writing instead. And that's how that poem came about. It's pretty rough (OBVIOUSLY), but hey, at least I'm writing again, right?

Observation (A section to skip if you don't like me wallowing in self-pity):
Hindsight is 20/20 my ass. I still have no idea what really went wrong. I look back at the relationship, and all I see are contradictions. Like a few days ago I said I was thinking about taking handball really seriously and going to more tournaments, and she encouraged me, saying she'd support me however she could, even saying she'd chip in monetarily (something I of course refused). And at my last bicycle race I said I was beginning to think the only way I'd be able to have enough money to do all the things I wanted to do was to marry rich, and she responded that she would try to get a high-paying job. Basically, what I'm trying to say was I was a bit blindsided. I still don't know how someone who is unfaithful could say those things. So as if I wasn't cynical enough before, now I get to distrust everyone for a while.
I guess I should take a moment to say that I'm not incredibly mad at her or anything. If she doesn't want to be with me, of course I don't want her to be with me. I'm just constantly frustrated by the things that keep cropping up. Little things, like she knew all my passwords to things, so I have to change them, just to be safe. Little things like picking up my phone and seeing her as the screen saver (before I obviously changed it). Little things like how I took literally 96% of my pictures with her in them, because I'm apparently an over-trusting fool who thought a good thing could last. Little things like not having someone to say good night, and I love you to when I'm finally tired enough to sleep at two in the morning. Except, of course, that last one isn't really such a little thing.
So I wish I could say things were clear in retrospect, that now I can see what went wrong, and learn, and grow, and all that sentimental crap. Instead, confusion reigns. I still can't quite believe she was capable of sleeping with another guy and lying to me so convincingly. You, dear reader, may not know her, but I can assure you there is nothing about her that would prompt that thought. She's a hard-working, talented, intelligent, innocent-looking girl. So I guess my observation for today is just that: the hyphenation. "-looking."

Exercise:
Because I don't really feel like doing a writing exercise, I think I'll just free write here for fifteen minutes. We'll see what comes of it.

Floyd had been growing decreasingly excited about his birthday as it drew nearer. The events in the days leading up to it had been mundane enough to warrant mentioning (quite a feat when you think about it, as there is really no shortage of mundanity in the world these days). In fact, it had been weeks since his routine had been broken in the slightest, and that was only because his cat had literally bored itself to death. He had been petting it as it slept (in exactly the same way he did every night before bed), and its quiet purring simply ceased. There was no wheeze, no final breath, no wisp of soul escaping into the aether. It simply grew gradually colder. Only after a few minutes had passed did Floyd actually catch on to what had occurred. He calmly picked up the body, put it in an appropriately-sized shoebox, and exited the back door to his yard, where he grabbed a shovel. With an all-too-practiced hand he dug a perfectly symmetrical grave the exact depth he required. He gently knelt and placed the box in the hole, filled in what he could, and spread the remaining soil around evenly so as not to leave an area of grass without sunlight. He surveyed his work, noting that the other graves had turned out nicely as well, but still regretting the blotch of dead grass near the first one (from before he had learned the trick about spreading the soil around after you were finished). That made three this spring. He really should look into getting better cats. Or a more exciting life, but honestly, he'd probably consider the switch in cats first. Perhaps if that didn't work out he could add an element of the unknown into his life. Like rolling some dice to determine which side of the bed he would sleep on. Yes, that would do nicely.

Me:
I'm not sure there's a lot to say here. I guess I could fill you in on some of the things I've been doing since my last post. I finished out the road biking season in an acceptable manner, and actually got pretty decent at time trialing near the end, though the 40 km state time trial was a bit more than I was ready for mentally. It didn't help that the markers on the road were in miles rather than kilometers, a fact that only really hit me when I got to the turnaround and was quite taken aback. (Yes, it should have been obvious, had I been thinking a little more. Or really, thinking at all. But I wasn't.) I think there was a good three mile section where I was just too miserable to ride well. Thoughts about never time trialing again fluttered through my brain, delightful fantasies distracting me from the torture I was putting myself through. Of course, since I wasn't concentrating on the torture, it wound up taking longer. I finished with a time in the low 57's, averaging just over 26 miles an hour. So not terrible, but as usual I was left with the thought "I could have gone faster." Which is a very frustrating thought for me to have, especially considering I knew going into the time trial I had never done one that long before and really couldn't expect that much of myself. So what I really need to be thinking is "I'll be faster next time." The only problem with that is it implies a next time, completely negating the fantasies I was clinging to about never suffering like that again. Quite a conundrum.
Most recently I've ridden my cyclocross bike a couple of times. I'd say I raced it, but the course was apparently really easy, so I'm not sure it counted as a real cross race. I did win, though, so that was pretty cool. I like the fact that the ground provides enough resistance that if you try hard you are rewarded with a gap over the person behind you. Drafting is still advantageous, of course, but it definitely feels like the strongest person has a better chance of winning than in road racing. It's too bad I'm terrible at bike handling. I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that the rest of the courses are easy too...
Oh, and as you might have guessed, I'm still playing a bit of Magic: The Gathering. It's fun, and about the only time I interact with people other than my family (by choice), so I guess that's my justification. Also, it turns out I'm not terrible at it. I'm thinking about traveling a bit to see if I could have more success, but if I were to do that it would be difficult to...
PLAY HANDBALL! I'm thinking about making this my priority for the winter to see how possible it would be to play at the top level. I know there are a few people who make a living at it, but I doubt that would be my goal. I just want to see how far I can go. I really haven't been playing that long (about four years now), and I feel like I'm almost within reach of the people I've seen who play at a high level. I don't know what is required to span the gap, but I'm willing to find out.
You may think these things don't leave a lot of time for writing, and you're right. I don't know what will happen as far as that is concerned. That is especially true if I get into a decent law school. (Which reminds me that I guess I no longer have to apply to Drake to stay close to Ames...). But I will be making an honest effort at writing more, and we'll see where it goes. It's not my primary concern currently, but I doubt it will ever fade from my passions altogether. Who knows? Maybe I'll eventually man up, quit everything, and try and make it as a starving writer. But right now I'm leaning more toward attending law school and writing when it works into my schedule.

Again, I apologize for the lack of posting, if only because it came without warning. But I'm back for now! Thanks for reading.

Mostly Pictures

Ode

You sicken me with sweetness
honey, thick and sharp,
running slowly enough
to savor the process
of biting numbness
as I shrink from your
cloying ways.

Oh honey, how I've missed
the slight bumps
granulations in the smoothness,
irregular pockets of purity
when crystalline clarity
spills out and melts away.

Poem:
Honey is delicious. Also, it's a bit of a metaphor about how something too sweet can be overwhelming, but the good moments make up for it. I don't know if that comes across very well, but it was in the back of my mind while I was writing.

Observation:
Turns out this post is having a bit of trouble posting. I got an error message, and things are freezing up, so I'm just going to get what I have up (hopefully), and try again tomorrow. I think it's the pictures that are making things a bit complicated. Anyway, thanks for reading, and I'll be back at it soon.

Me:
I still have vacation stories up my sleeve, but they seem less exciting the more removed I get from them, so I'll sort of skip around to the interesting stuff. Sunday we woke up quite unmolested, packed quickly, and entered the Needles section of Canyonlands. There wasn't anyone taking money, so even though we had a pass, it didn't seem like it was doing much. We hiked from Elephant Hill trailhead until we had seen some pretty views, and turned around to continue on our quest to see more parks. Needles is interesting in that it offers a different sort of rock formation to look at, but it definitely seems like it would be better to attack this park from a backpacking approach than day hikes. So I made sure we had seen what I thought was a good representation of what the park had to offer, and we were off to our next park.

Is it just me, or does this look like Snoopy the dog on his red house? Okay, I guess usually he is lying o his back in the comic and this looks like a dog on its tummy, but considering I hardly ever play the "what does that look like?" game, I thought this was pretty decent.

Next up was Capitol Reef. In a similar fashion to Canyonlands, this park doesn't have anything I would call astonishingly beautiful. It's just a nice place to be. Then again, being as partial as I am to the western United States, almost anywhere would qualify as a nice place to be as far as I'm concerned. Having witnessed Rebecca's love of water firsthand at Mill Creek, I decided the best hike for us at Capitol Reef was Sulphur Creek. The trail is simply the creek bed (though you can take an overland route to cut distance if desired. I've hiked this before, but as with every water-based trail, this offers a different view around every bend. In the later parts of the day the orange glow of the sun really brought out the color, and all in all, it was a nice, rather relaxing walk in the water. The waterfalls were pretty, too, even if I did almost fall down one. Don't worry; in addition to not dying, I even managed to catch my sunglasses as they fell off my head and threatened to plunge over the edge.

And now, by popular request (the only request), the story of how I hiked Bright Angel Point (with pictures). To understand why my sister wanted to hear about this story you should probably know some things about me. Or rather, I should clarify some things you probably already know about me. As a person terrified of dying (as I would assume many are), I take decent precautions to not put myself in situations where that might occur. As such, I tend to avoid heights. Okay, I'm just scared of heights. The other thing you have to realize is that this trail is high up in the air. There. I've pretty much set the scene. We drove into Zion after a decent night's sleep intending to hike the Narrows. However, we knew the water had been pretty high recently, and as such, had a backup plan of skirting death at high altitude prepared just in case we weren't able to go with our first option. Lucky me, the water was too high to hike in the safe canyon floor, so we got to go up on top instead. (They only let people hike the Narrows if the water is under 140 cfs for 24 hours, and that was the first day it had dipped below the mark. We came back to it later in the week (obviously, since I've written about it), but it was still quite high even then.



Also, it was hot enough that this happened:

We grabbed the shuttle to the Grotto where the trail began and started our hike. It looked like this:

And then it looked like this:




(In case it doesn't show up that well, this photo is of about eight switchbacks up what is basically a vertical wall.












Here is a better photo (not mine).













I thought that was quite a bit of elevation gain for our hike, but I knew there was another section to go. The so-called Angel's Landing. Having crested the top of our last switchback, we were greeted by a view of what lay ahead. At first glance, I thought I could probably do it. Then I noticed that what I could see was not the extent of what was in store. After going up a narrow strip of rock, we had to go down, and then back up even higher to reach our destination. We could see people (really small-looking people, really far away) climbing up and down on their hike either out or back, and I started to think this was going to be quite a task. I'm incredibly sure I wouldn't have done it on my own, but if Rebecca was going, I was too. In my head I was thinking I wanted to be there in case anything went wrong, but looking back, that's just like thinking "Well, if one of us is going to die, the other might as well be there to watch. Or potentially die with them." So not the best logic ever, but it resulted in me having something to talk about, so no complaints here. Now there weren't many places on the trail I felt like stopping to dig a camera out of my bag (since I needed all of my hands for clinging to whatever solid objects I could find), but here are some pictures I do have:

A view of what we climbed up.



















And a view of how pointless it was for me to be there in case Rebecca fell. Sheer cliff walls, and about four feet to walk on the entire way. Never again (probably).














A view down the canyon. It sure was pretty. Too bad I was constantly too afraid of where my feet were to be looking around much.

















A view back the way we had come from.














We eventually made it back to safety, hiked a bit further on the rim trail (bad idea and not worth the time or effort), and descended back to the canyon floor. The descent was quite hard on my knees, but overall I was mostly just happy to be alive.

It's a gradual process.

On tap for today: three quarters of a normal post. Didn't feel poetic, but wanted to get this up.

Observation:
My observation for today is pretty depressing. But maybe it's only depressing if you happen to be me. Here it is: It turns out I would probably not be qualified to work at McDonald's. You know, that oft-joked-about job reserved for the dregs of society? Yup. Last night made me pretty sure I wouldn't pass muster. (I used to think that expression was passing mustard. Maybe McDonald's is in my future after all?) Anyway, my dad had grilled up some really delicious vegetable burgers (spicy black bean) and told us to put whatever toppings/condiments we wanted on them. And here's what I did: I put some pickles on top of the burger, and then sprayed some ketchup and mustard onto the other side of the bun. Then, upon assembling the burger, I realized I had put the slippery stuff on the bottom bun. At that point, I just shook my head at myself. See, not only does the additional weight of the burger cause the ketchup and mustard to ooze out all over the place, but the slickness of the liquids causes the burger to lose integrity, sliding apart at the slightest opportunity. It's not like I've never had a burger before. How many times have I bitten into a sandwich and known the ketchup and mustard are on top? Thousands? I guess on the bright side, cutting McDonald's from my career options isn't such a bad thing.

Exercise:
Begin a story with the last line, and write backward (end with the first line). Read it backward, then read it forward.

(This takes forever. And it's really frustrating, because I kept wanting to write two sentences at a time as a way to segue between thoughts. Enjoyable challenge though.)

He hadn't buzzed, and was in the middle of asking the lady in white what the heck she was doing there when a brief, intense look restored him to silence. The nurse, he had quickly learned, was a sort of no-nonsense, practical, and altogether humorless individual, so it was a bit surprising to him that she had taken the time to pay him an extra visit. She seemed concerned, squinting at him over her clipboard while telling him someone was coming in to see him. He tried to tell the nurse he was in no mood to receive visitor's, but she either didn't hear him or didn't believe him. He heard the door open. By now there was no way his hair was still presentable, the pillow having flattened one side and added an interesting topiary-like feature near the top. The sheets felt a bit too warm, too clingy, restraining him from whatever slight movement he may have been considering. He felt her hand brush against his, and he turned his head, grimacing slightly. It was reassuring to have her there by his side, though pain in his torso prevented him from moving much. At least I don't have to fix the roof, he thought as he closed his eyes.

Me:
I have a lot of biking stories built up by now, so I'll take a break from recounting my vacation to bring my life up to date. Thursday morning was a disaster. Rebecca had made me oatmeal recently, and I felt like duplicating it for breakfast. I was unable. It was the blandest bowl of mush I'd ever tasted. Luckily, honey transformed it from a bland bowl of mush to a delicious bowl of sugary goodness. Of course, the quantity of honey I added probably rendered it into more of a candy than a breakfast food, but I ate it happily. The disaster continued. I was supposed to hang out laundry to dry, and despite the cloudy weather, it seemed rather dry. I even checked the weather radar and forecast. Exactly ten minutes after I finished hanging it up, I was in the kitchen packing a lunch when the pitter patter of little raindrops (big raindrops) alerted me all was not well. I went out and pulled the now-wetter-than-before laundry off the line.
But you're probably wondering what this has to do with cycling. Well, I've always noticed that the worse things go before a race, the better the race itself goes. And this was one of those times. I had a 12k time trial that evening, and my previous best time was around 17:40. My time for this particular race? 16:49. It was pretty great, and that is an understatement.
Then Friday was another time trial. This one was 20k, but I was doing it on a tandem with my dad. The thing about tandems is, when you're on the back, there is no wind to cool you off. Sure, you're more aerodynamic, but you're also blind. I couldn't see without stinging eyes for a few minutes after we finished. This one also went well, though I didn't feel nearly as good as I did Thursday. And that is an understatement. I felt awful. My calf started cramping before we'd even gotten halfway, and at one point I was sure the tandem was going to snap in half we were so out of sync with our shifting weight. Nevertheless, we were only three seconds away from having the fastest overall time of the night. We finished in 27:33, so I wasn't too unhappy.
Which brings my cycling tales up to today. Today was a road race. I was signed up for two laps of a 27 mile course, but the Iowa Games decided it was too hot. Apparently we are under some sort of heat advisory for the next four days or so, and they shortened my race to one lap. This was my sort of course. Meaning, of course, that there are hills on it. There are two major climbs, and the last comes with three kilometers to the finish. The guys who signed up for two laps are the ones who are pretty good at cycling, so I didn't have much opportunity to do interesting things. At one point there were some people attacking and I decided to participate, but I was not nearly strong enough to get away. So I sat in for the most part (took a few pulls when things slowed down), and climbed hard. The first climb has a steep descent to it, and I am still unwilling to risk anything at high speed after crashing quite a few years ago, so I was off the back by the time the group started going up. I climbed up to the back, noticed the back was moving backward in comparison to the front, and climbed pretty hard to get up to the group that was moving the right direction. I felt pretty terrible during the climb, and I'm pretty sure I was just at my limit, but by the time we got to the top of the hill I started feeling better immediately. I noticed things were still slow, so I pulled through to get the pace back up and test my legs out a bit. Sure enough, not a lot of people were feeling as good as I was. This boded well for the finale.
I sat in for quite a while doing as little work as possible and we eventually made it to the last hill. I descended in my usual slow fashion and got a bit boxed in on the ascent. I made it up to the third wheel of the group, with two people off the front. I was thinking the two guys in front of me would give a hard chase and I would be able to attack after they made the catch. However, it quickly became evident we were not getting any closer to the two guys up the road, and with only just over 1.5 kilometers to go, my options were limited. I attacked. I looked back, and there was no response from the group. The climb took quite a bit out of the group, and I got away clean. I made it up to the two up the road with almost exactly one kilometer left, but I thought the group behind might be getting organized enough to bring us back, so I didn't grab their draft like I should have. I pulled through, and one guy attacked immediately. I had no energy left, so I watched first place disappear up the road. Still scared of the group behind, I was pretty sure the kid I was with was in a different age category. I sprinted, but he came around me and got second overall. I guess I just need to realize how much of a gap is safe, but it definitely wasn't worth getting caught by the group. An assured top-three finish was better than risking it all in a bid for first.

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!