Patty And I

My totally arrogant vision of what my wife needs, bike-wise, to be bike-happy, is intersecting in a pretty major way with her totally reasonable vision of what we need in order to be marriage-happy.

It's a crazy deal, but we're all over it, b/c we both think it could be good, and maybe really good.  Patience with each other is the cornerstone, the foundation.  We're coming up on our 23rd anniversary, so even tho it seems at times like we don't get each other at all, I think we kinda get each other pretty well.  Or at least we're working pretty hard at it.

One point of our "agreement" on this whole deal involves me not stupidly posting pics of her on this here blog.  Which I so totally get and agree to.

But the moments are happening, and it wouldn't be exactly right to internet-ingore 'em, just sayin'.  I think she and I have a bit of common understanding on this point, and so I offer you the following:

This is a deal whereby I have come up with a way to quick-release clamp the front end of either of my fatbikes to
the bed of my truck.  It works out well, actually, and so I am compelled to blog/blab about it.

There was at least one failed iphone fotographic moment.

Lovely bikes, lounging in the exactly one piece of lovely shade we encountered.

That/s a snake, center right.  That looks like a stick.  I had him dead to rights in my iphone, for the most fabulous, hall 'o fame photo in the history of the i-net.  Until he freaked on me and booked.  Damn hard getting a good photo of a moving snake, says I.

How To Say This . . .

I wanna tell you something, but I don't know how, exactly.  The information is marital-related, and as such, my blabbing about it on the interwebs is inherently perilous.  Mightily so, as a matter of fact.

If I was smart, I would gorilla-tape my pie hole shut until the urge passes.  Unfortunately, I have never let 'smart' be my guiding principle.

So here it is:  Patty has gotten kinda fa . . .

Oh holy hell, I can't believe I almost said that!

What I meant to say is this:  Her new bike makes her butt look kinda skinn . . .

O. M. G.  I am 5-3/4 of the way into my 6 foot grave!

What I really meant to say is that her BMI has recently gone above average.  And by BMI I'm talking about "bike mass index".  (Seriously, who doesn't know this?!?)

Shit, I'm toast.  It's been nice knowing you.

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Since there's a tiny window of time between now and when I will actually be smitten, please allow me to post up a pic of Patty's new fatbike:

When you buy a bike at the Bike Swap, the first place you get to ride it is in the massive parking lot at the fairgounds.  Word.

She does seem not exactly unhappy, in this moment.  Which I will gladly take, at this moment.

One of the great perks of being a bike nerd is knowing, and I mean mofu KNOWING, that you know exactly what new bike your spouse needs, to make his or her life complete, bike-wise.  If you know what I mean.  It usually always works out, but in this case I have extra high hopes.

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In other timely, imperative news, my flirtation with becoming a hobby home-machinist finally and mercifully ended this weekend.  After a couple-or-three years of being invested in a multi-hundred-pound piece of equipment and the deliberations of where to put it and how to move it and how to use it and and how to generally deal with and repair it, I'm glad to be non-deliberating.  The lathe has a righteous new owner/home, and I can't remember feeling so satisfied and unburdened.

To be clear, it would be super awesome to have the capability to go out to my shop and turn down some small bits for whatever, but I botched the execution of placing the right piece of equipment in my shop and learning how to use it at the right time, and that ship has pretty much sailed, for the time being.  I have a ton of fish to fry and that's not one of them at this point.  Godspeed, little lathe.

Q-minations

I'm having a hard time disengaging myself from the Quilomene.   Climbing out a coupla weeks ago amidst the adverse conditions turned out to be a pretty big, impactful deal for me.  Obviously.

A group of rad, capable friends/acquaintances is out there right now, three days into a four-dayer, as I type.   They are for sure having some type of a significant adventure, because there is no way you can go into that area and experience anything even close to mild.  Aside from maybe a windy night last night, the weather appears to have favored their trip and I suspect they are doing quite well.  I think they number five, and if that is the case, they could be having quite a party in Whisky Dick Bay at this hour, if they found and have decided to consume all the beer we stashed, which would result in a fairly impressive alcohol-to-rider ratio.  Giddy-up, Quilomene cowboys & cowgirls!

I'm experiencing a bit of regret that I'm not out there with them, but you need to be in the right frame of mind and have your batteries pretty fully charged before you head out there, and I had neither of these things going on.  So I'm good.  I hope they're having a blast.

Chances are very slim that I will get out there again this year.  At the rate our Spring weather is progressing, the rattlesnakes and big heat and lack of water will be upon the area in a matter of a coupla weeks, and I'm really not at all interested in battling any of these elements.   But I've been out out there twice already, which is pretty damned satisfying.  The place is so amazing.

In closing, I'm linking to Scott's blog posts from our trip two weeks ago.  In following his blog over the past 2 or 3 years, I have come to really dig his perspective and style.  His writing is raw and supremely honest, but in a very subdued and laid back manner, that is laced with his awesome dry humor.

Scott's Day One Accounting

Scott's Day Two Accounting

As you may well ascertain, there's a certain bond that developed over the course of an eventful weekend between a couple of dudes from Eastern Washington that happened to go for a ride together.

I'm gonna try to let go of the whole deal about my latest experience in the Q now, but man, I don't think I can ever let it completely go.

Orcas-2

Orcas-1 happened around this same time last year.  Which was really Orcas-2.  Since the real Orcas-1 happened about a year earlier.  Which really makes this Orcas-3.  I think.

The other thing you need to come to grips with is over-hyphenation.  Because you are about to deal with it.  Why?  I-do-not-know.  Some things just-are.

We left Spo on Thursday last at what must have felt like noon to Mr. Speare, and what certainly felt like the butt-crack-of-dawn to me.  Odd couple that we are.

We arrived in Seattle somewhere around an-hour-and-a-half early, because he never likes to arrive anywhere on time.  Which left me with the opportunity to ring-up my daughter Jacque, and see if she could meet us for coffee in the big city.  She could and did.  Damnit, she kills me - she is so radiant and lovely - she totally amped up my soul for the whole next four days, with just this short visit.  That's the power she holds over me.

No, I am not stoned in this self-taken (not selfie) pic, just super proud, happy and satisfied.  Thrivin' on my Jacque fix.

After a literal subsequent lifetime's worth of driving, we finally arrived at the fabled Rosario Resort.  Ever since last year, we'd been salivating over the prospect of returning to their oh-so-generous happy-hour.  But alas, happy-hour had been abolished.  Not-only-that, but we had been abolished to the outskirts of the kingdom, scurvy lot were we.  We vowed to avenge our loss, somehow.

At about an hour into our ride the next morning, spite could have mattered less.  We were gasping for O2 like fish out of water on the 2000' climb up Mount Constitution.  Yes, I am bringing up the rear.  Thanks for pointing that out, you bastard.

I love taking pictures and sometimes people encourage my behavior and sometimes they tell me to go to hell and sometimes they are somewhat neutral.

Ungulation was all the hell over everywhere, all damn weekend long.  I studied a group of four from my "balcony" for quite-some-time and actually watched them both shit-and-piss, which sounds gross, but which was actually somewhat fascinating.

Eventually we arrived at the summit of Mt Constitution, because Alex made us do it.  Food sure tastes good up there.  Bets is trying to tell us something; not-sure-what.

Why we go when we do.

Alex.  The man.  The legend.

Bets. Having zero fun.

Lee.  The one and only.

Larry, in Larry-intense-mode.

Rory-in-red.

John, who can scare up a flat pretty much anywhere.

Gratuitous Bucksaw Porn-Shot-1.

Gratuitous-moss-shot.

Gratuitous-shroom-shot.

No great bike adventure would really be complete without the shot of everyone-sitting-around-watching-one-guy-deal-with-a-mechanical.

Gratuitous Bucksaw Porn-Shot-2.

Gratuitous Bucksaw Porn-Shot-3.

Gratuitous Bucksaw Porn-Shot-4.

Gratuitous Bucksaw Porn-Shot-5.

Okay, feel free to stab me in the retina with a fork.  I know I deserve it.  But damn, I had so much fun on this bike, on these trails.

Freaking glory.  Hero-man-John chilling with hero-shuttle-capitan-Bets and new-bro-friend-Ben, who's waiting for lost-friends.   Hero-man-Pat-S manning the shutter.  After our 2nd or 3rd or 7th hero-run down the hill.  Who's counting.  Hells yeah.  Shuttling is the absolute bomb.

Black-n-white-sad-to-be-leaving bikes.

View from the bloodshot-eyes of black-n-white-sad-to-be-leaving humans, packing bikes-on-cars, non-eagerly awaiting the packing of bikes-on-cars-on-boats.

Look, in-all-seriousness:  It was such a privilege to hang out with a bunch of insanely-smart, seriously-witty, spleen-busting-funny dudes and chick, and also ride some of the best shit ever.  What a freaking great weekend.  I am such a lucky bastard.

Oh, and we avenged our happy-hour-loss by spending all our drinking and food money in town.  Just sayin', Rosario.