Spontaneous Combustion

Maybe one of the few consolations of getting older is that you are quicker to recognize experiences that are truly once-in-a-lifetime. They generally come out of nowhere. Like tonight, for instance.

I was minding my own business, riding home from work. The weather was perfect, the ride uneventful. That is, until I jumped onto Trent or Spokane Falls Blvd or whatever they're calling it these days. You know, the U-district. I was westbound, just east of Division, by Midas Muffler. The 'Don't Walk' sign was flashing and I knew I was toast, but I stood up and hammered anyway. And whadya know, it held. I generally LOVE this next part because you're rolling downhill past the Convention Center and traffic is moving slowly and you can get in the mix and get your adrenaline rush on.

Unfortunately, tonight, I pulled up behind a big-ass class A diesel-pusher multi-hundred-thousand-dollar behemoth motorhome. There was cussing and moaning and bitching and no picture-taking going on, but it was about this size and color:



The light changed and this monstrous dude spewed a bunch of black smoke out the back. I turned my head and coughed, which I normally reserve for my doctor, and then I called him un-thinkable names, which I normally reserve for my doctor. I couldn't see the light because this mammoth blocked everything including the sun. But I decided that I was getting on his bumper - I would just stay close and let his shadow to drag me through the light, no matter what color it was.

And then it happened. I think maybe he had one of those rear-view cameras and got freaked out about some idiot on a bike tailgating him. Or maybe not. Whatever. He punched it. So I punched it. It was effortless! I suddenly realized I was drafting behind a two-story building . . . I was riding in a vacuum!!!!! Just imagine staring at a wall of fiberglass like this as it pushes all the air out of your way!



We blistered our way past Azteca and Kinko's. The Opera House was a glass-and-concrete blur. We must have been doing, uhhh . . . 75. Yeah. He tried to drop me, but I was the BICYCLE KING OF THE UNIVERSE! For two blocks. And then the light at Washington turned red and my crown turned to dust. But it was the sweetest two blocks of my life. And what made it the best was that he punched it. Good luck finding a grandpa behind the wheel that will do that.

You know that I know that I can never duplicate this experience. So if you see some dude on a bike this weekend chasing motorhomes down the Argonne on-ramp . . . it's not me.

Spokane Pedicab

Spotted them downtown on the 4th. Did you know about these guys? I had no idea. This is cool.



http://spokanepedicab.com/

Inter-city travel? Man, these guys have some energy! Typo, I hope. ;-)

A bit more info.

An Xtracycle In The Hands Of An Idiot . . .

. . . is a dangerous thing.

I was supposed to paint the garage on Friday. Completely. It wasn't that I didn't try. But I simultaneously ran out of paint and beer. That damn siding soaks up paint like I soak up beer.

So I was ready to finish off the job today. But first I would have to get more paint and beer. Fortunately, I now have the right bike for the job. So no problem. Sherwin-Williams on Grand for the paint, then on to the Conoco on 29th for the suds. 3 gallons of paint, 2 bags of ice, a six-pack of decent beer and some other auxiliary backup canned beer. And oh yeah, some oil for the paint sprayer. A good sloshy liquid load.

I was pedalling my bad, local, green, proud self home when out of nowhere . . . "THUD". I didn't even have to turn around. I knew that sound. Shit! For just a split second, I thought about standing on those pedals and burning rubber. But I had to do the right thing. And that was to turn around and park my bike right in front of the puddle of rapidly-drying paint oozing from the ruptured gallon paint can and figure out what to do. I was on the pestigious corner of Manito Blvd and 27th. Parking in front of it was important so that cars didn't drive through it and track my 20-year legacy all the way to the prestigious corner of Manito Blvd and 23rd. I was trying not to cry.

You don't stand around taking a bunch of pictures of a crisis you created, but I did sneak this one, right after I picked up the can.



Luckily, the great residents of Manito Blvd didn't want to see their street messed up any more than I did and rushed to my aid. Jeff came over with a roll of paper towels and a bunch of plastic grocery bags. Then a very nice lady whose name escapes me came over with this cool flexible spatula and some containers I could scoop the paint into. I sprung into action. She returned later with a bucket of water and some brushes. It was totally awesome and I contained the spill.

I pedalled very, very slowly after that, and made it home with my load intact.



You're probably saying, "Shit, Pat. It's no wonder your paint fell off. All that beer and ice squeezed it right off the back!

I guess you could look at it that way, but I had a little different perspective. The paint fell off, but the beer didn't. To me that was a sign. Cosmic forces were signalling that this was not the right time to be painting and that beer-drinking was in order.

Patty's interpretation was a bit different and I ended up painting. But before I started, I rode to The Scoop and bought a couple of gift certificates and delivered them to the neighbors that had been so helpful so that I could treat them to an ice cream. It was just so cool that people would stop what they were doing and come out and help me deal with this situation that maybe seems like not that big of a deal but which I really wanted to set straight and could not have done without their help.

On the way back, the stain was drying and looking pretty good. Bullet dodged.



For the most part, even though, my hands were covered with white paint, I somehow kept it off the Xtra. I do have this one scar to remind me what a dummy I am and to be more careful in the future. I'm sure this is the last mistake I will ever make.

The Root That's A Fruit?

One of the great things about living in Spokane is that you are close to Walla Walla. And one of the great things about being close to Walla Walla is that for a coupla months every summer, the stores are flooded with the best onions the world has ever tasted. Bar none. The Vidalia people have been trying to tell us theirs are the better. Serious? Get real, guys.

For two months a year we take WW's for granted. And then for the other ten, we're pissed because we can't get them and we bitterly judge all others against them. Maybe it's time to consider root cellars, which I remember from my granfather's place and which are seriously cool.

A lot of people, mostly old-timers with diminished mental capacity, say that you can eat them like apples. Sounds good. You go first.

The only thing I know for sure, and proved tonight, is that if you haul them home on your bike, they taste 2 to 3 times as good.

A Different Kind Of Hoop-Fest

At the same time as a bazillion-thousand people were throwing a round bouncy ball through a metal hoop a trazillion-thousand times in downtown Spokane, a little over a hundred people were pedalling their mechanical transportation devices that roll on skinny round rubber tires mounted on different kinds of hoops in a large counterclockwise cirle on the outskirts of Spo. They have their Madison Ave mainsteam sport and we have our obscure Euro-ish deal going on, but we are both throwing down. I think we throw down WAY harder, but they'd probably say the same thing. I'm not sure I'd want ours to be all glam. I suspect a lot of us more-or-less like it that way it is and same for them.

My fave bike club hosted the Washington State Masters and Juniors Road Race Championships this weekend. That means that if you are between the ages of 10 & 18 or 35 & dead, this is the race you come to in order to prove you are the best road bike racer in Washington. (Well, it's not quite that simple, but this is my blog so that's how I'm spinning it!)

It was the culmination of a ton of work and planning that started way long ago and a big step forward for the current administration of the club in terms of the caliber of event they aspire to and are able to host. I think they did a damn fine job. There are no single few persons that can do this - it truly takes a club and a whole bunch of other people that are either somehow supporting our club or supporting the cause of Spokane bicycle racing in general to make this happen. You would be amazed at the amount of bodies and effort that if takes to make something like this happen. Thanks to everyone who spent their Sunday standing in the sun in the middle of nowhere in a fluorescent vest with a stop sign in your hand or sitting behind a folding table in a gravel parking lot typing registration info into a spreadsheet on a laptop running off borrowed power.

If I tried to say thanks to everyone I would leave someone out. There are just too many people doing massive amounts of stuff. So this is a shout out and huge thank you to everyone who pitched in today. And that being said, there are two people who deserve a little recognition: Our club president Mike Sirott, and club treasurer Alan Jacob. Mike is the down-to-earth vision-guy. And also energy-guy. Alan is the first lieutenant and fill-in-every-blank-you-can-think-of-and-even-those-you-can't-guy. And also energy-guy. Vision, details, and energy squared. No way this would have happened without those two. Kudos, guys.

My alarm went off at 3:45 am and I was on the course setting up at 5:00. I got home a little after 8:00 pm and spent a couple more hours unloading and whatnot. My day was not even a little unusual. Everyone who worked or participated in this event poured overly-generous amounts of heart and soul into it. I'm positive that I'm not the only one who asked themselves several times today why we are doing this and whether it is worth it. It's the same in a thousand races all over the country every year. The answer lies in the hypnotic, passionate power this simple machine holds over us.

Every time we do a race I am just amazed at the process and I always want to post about it, but I never have the energy because I'm always wiped. This time I wanted to take a good set of pics to document the race, but I was once again just too busy and ended up with a lame subset of the drama, so this is what you get:

Dog Is My Co-Pilot

If you go to yard sales looking for some particular item, you're most likely setting yourself up for a big disappointment. Yard sales are more about opportunity. And surprises.

And yet last week, I set out hoping against hope to find one thing in particular: A plastic box.

And on the very last stop, I scored. 3 bucks. Sweet!



The ride home was truly jubilant.

But having a box and using it are two different things. I knew we would have to take things slow. And that snacks would have to be involved. We started with the basics:



And then we took it to the next level:



That is one nervous dog. I was starting to think she was too freaked and that it would never happen, but then a few nights ago we took our first short ride. She was showered with praise and "Pup-Peroni" snacks.



Now it's like we were born to ride.



Oh the adventures we will have!

If you drive a sub-compact drop-kick, just throw it in your back pack. It's always yapping anyway, so you might as well give it something to yap about.

And if you drive a large-breed SUV, a trailer is probably your best bet. Or maybe it will just have to stay while you go.

But if you drive a mid-size American-made mangy mutt, an Xtra and a big plastic tub are your ticket to the good life.

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In other news, there's a fab new candidate for the Spokane City Council. Check out the sidebar. This ROCKS.

Patty's Pedals Push Pedro's Pizza