Bike Around Town

I got to thinking the other day about how I support the local biking community. I don't take a very focused approach. Instead, I opt to spread my 'wealth' around to various stores. It makes for a very interesting series of experiences and experiments. Unfortunately, I also don't tend to build any camraderie with the staff. Nobody knows me, as far as I know. I suppose I'm the same way with a lot of things, like bars and coffee shops. I don't stick to just one.

One on One. My most recent venture led me to One on One bike studio/coffee-shop/whatever they decide to be from one day to the next. I've always found this place a little intimidating. They have a big reputation, and the few times I went past the back alley entrance there've always been a group of hipster messenger types seemingly glaring at me through cigarette (etc) smoke and over tall boys of PBR. I bought a wheel for my winter bike, then when I got over my head mechanically, I returned to have them mount it. I was impressed in the end, but it took three interactions with the mechanic to get there. The first transaction was simple, a purchase of a rear single speed wheel. I bought the freewheel for the wheel since my old one turned out to be rusted into a fixed position. The mechanic at the Hub informed me I'd purchased the incorrect wheel and why. So I brought it back to dude at One on One who agreed that it was in fact the wrong wheel. He insisted I didn't specify a single speed. I know I did, but whatever, I'm so non-confrontational it hurts. "So how do I fix it?" I asked, because I'd already wrapped rim tape around it and slapped on the tire from my old bike. "You...should probably just let me do it." He asked a fair price and I agreed because, well, I just wanted to ride my bike. He was done it twenty minutes and it rides very well. So far. In the end he was in a really good mood, very amicable and welcomed me to come back for anything. Speaking of...

The Hub Bike Co-Op. I go here sometimes. They have two locations, both close to me. They're the first place I went when I started looking for a new bike. I gave them my criteria and they told me what my options were. They didn't pry for any additional information, didn't try to upsell me to a more expensive bike and treated me like a person. I appreciated it a lot, but I didn't like the KHS bike they showed me. It wasn't sexy, but it was decent. Since then I've bought a lot of things there from my headlights to my own hipster Chrome bag. Up until my last trip, they have always been extremely nice. When I bought my fenders there and they invited me at check-out to use the shop they typically rent out to install them. There was a lot of slush on the ground and it was raining, so it was much appreciated. I'd gone back to use their shop to install the freewheel, asked if I could use the shop to install it like this was a normal thing, and the two guys at the register, one of which was perfectly nice the day before, looked at me as if I was the most ridiculous thing they'd ever seen. They both brandished pained, awkward expressions, looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. "Do you have a receipt?" The formerly-nice guy asked. "What?" I answered, confused, and started looking through my bag. Before I found it he informed me I had the wrong wheel anyway, prompting the conversation with the mechanic. So I left. I'll probably be back, but not for a while. It made me think of how hit or miss a lot of this is. I don't know what it is about working at a bike shop. Maybe it's really emotional for some people, or maybe there's some training along the way on how to act as aloof as possible when somebody just needs a hand. This interaction made me rethink my previous and only experience with the Varsity Bike Shop in Dinkytown. I've written about them before, and the review as not exactly glowing. Pretty sure they're off my shitlist.

Erik's.  I still feel a little guilty when I think about the amount of work the salesman at Erik's put into working with me and answering all of my questions and pinpointing what bike I should buy and why.  He was patient and unassuming, and he used a very effective sales technique that I'm sure has it's own name in salesman circles.  The plan goes as such: find out what the person is looking for and what they're willing to pay.  Then, find three different options that match some or all of those.  The first will be the budget-minded option.  It meets their financial requirement, but comes up short in components or fit.  It's not very glamorous, but it's what the customer is looking for.  In this case it was a Raleigh, I don't remember which model.  I didn't like the look, the color and I didn't know enough about bikes to know Raleigh is a good company with respectable products.  Nope.  Then present the customer with an option that not only meets, but exceeds all of their criteria.  If my memory serves me correctly, this was a Specialized Tarmac.  In car terms, it was like sitting in a Porsche, imagining all the places you'd go and how fast you'd get there.  I got excited until I looked at the price tag.  More than double what I was looking for.  The customer will be trying to figure out if and how they can justify this purchase, loosening up the financial requirement, and this is really key.  You've shown them what they want, but cannot have.  You have also elevated the expectations and requirements for components and fit.  Then you give them the middle of the road.  Sure, it's a little more money than the base, but it shares a lot of the same characteristics of the expensive option.  Of course it costs more, but it fits better and gives them what they want.  A couple extra hundred is a lot easier than an extra twelve hundred.  Hook, line, sinker.  He got me, but I didn't have the money available to me, so I couldn't get it right then and there.  I had to find another store that would finance me.  I had to move on.  They have some pretty nice bikes here, I always drool over the Specialized Langster's they have on hand, especially the New York and Seattle versions.  Still, I've gone back for accessories, gloves, lube and a tune-up.  I'd recommend them for that and bikes.  As far as their shop staff goes it's been hit or miss.  Sometimes great, sometimes dodgy. 

Bicycle Chain. Definitely where I've spent the most money, as this is where I bought my Specialized Allez sort of roadie clown friendly bike. Also as fast as it was affordable. I got a discount on that, then wound up getting some extras installed, detachable fenders, new tires and my helmet I never wear. They're kind, unassuming folk as well who will sell only what the customer asks for. The mechanics are knowledgeable as well. When I came in I knew exactly what bike I was looking for, but the guy there didn't know that, so it was interesting to see his lassiz faire sales technique at work. Pretty much, "You can buy it, or you can leave it. It's cool. Whatever." He didn't try to upgrade me to a more expensive Specialized and he didn't try to push me on the Surly when I had questions about that. I didn't know a whole lot about bikes, but a steel frame seemed heavy to me. The Allez weighed like 15 lbs, and that was a huge selling point for me. I wanted fast, first and foremost. Everything else came after.  And they would finance me, so I went there.  All but the last time I went there they were helpful and not at all pushy.  I've stopped going here because I just don't feel like biking all the way to Roseville when I have about 10 shops closer to me.  Probably more.

Cars R Coffins.  I responded to a craigslist ad for a converted single speed Raleigh.  It turns out it was Hurl from CRC Coffee Bar/Cykel Garage.  I met him at the coffee shop, took the rather tall yellow bike around the block and was sold instantly.  I really like this place, it's quaint, it has good biking magazines and books, a small shop you can rent out and there's usually a few affordable bikes on display.

Freewheel Bike.  I go here most.  They have always been nice, minimal hipster and very helpful.  It's the first place I saw an All City bike, which I immediately fell in love with.  Them bikes is hot.  They are always happy to answer any questions, willing to order parts not on hand and some day I intend to take a class there on fixing bikes.  If I'm riding with somebody I typically direct them to Freewheel for any fixes or parts.

Flanders Brothers.  I know nothing about this store because all I've ever bought here is a tube.  They were very helpful in that instance.  They are also closed on Sundays so their bike team can ride/train/whatever.  That's most of the reason I've never gone for anything else.  They usually have a really nice ladies bike in the window.  I don't know why, but that's always the first thing I look at on my way by.  That, and that their sign on the side of the building said 'Flan Bros' for a long time.

Angry Catfish Bicycle and Coffee Bar.  When is somebody going to have a bar-bar combined with a bike shop and not a coffee shop combined with a bar?  I misread when I first heard of this place and thought, "Finally!"  Nope.  Not so.  I had just skipped over the word 'coffee.'  Meh.  I finally made it in here this past week and oh my lord they have the most sexy bicycle selection I've ever seen in one place.  They had an All City Nature Boy complete and frame-only on display that made me...well, dream a little.  Someday.  They also completely sold me on Raleigh.  I couldn't believe all the bikes I really liked there came from the same company.  I was going to buy a freewheel from them, but they didn't have the right one and I was short on patience.  Next time.  Promise.

Sure, I've gone to REI in a pinch, but I feel a little guilty buying from them.  They're definitely a big fish, but they're also a co-op, so I don't feel as bad as when I go through Amazon or god-knows-who on eBay.  Mostly clothing from here, and my Delta bike rack.  It's the shit. 
So, I've learned a lot over the years from a lot of mostly patient people.  Given my recent Jekyll and Hyde experience at the Hub, I've decided to man up and bury the hatchet with the Varsity Bike Shop.  I will no longer be sharing my bad experience with others or recommending people avoid them.  Time to grow up, me thinks.  After that, I'll be printing out a wallet-size picture of the Nature Boy to carry with me always.

Target Center Turns 20

Twenty years of Target Center.  On the cusp of their twenty first season, the Timberwolves' home is celebrating two decades of sad existence.

The Timberwolves' first season was played in the Metrodome, which is of course how we earned the NBA's Attendance Record, one of very few banners now displayed in Target Center's rafters.   That's where I saw Pooh Richardson and a bunch of other guys in tiny shorts take on Magic Johnson, Michael Jordan and Malone/Stockton.  Given the initial popularity and my family's economics of the time, we were relegated to the rear of the uppermost deck, where a court full of very tall men looks quite small and inconsequential.  Then, in 1990, the Wolves moved into their new home across town to Target Center, designed with chunky blocks of muted, non-offensive colors.  It looked pretty....acceptable in the early nineties. 

Last night was the Timberwolves' season opener, much like any past preseason basketball game.  The starters and major players see limited minutes at best, and you're left watching a series of Almosts and Not-Quites battling for the second string.  The Wolves played the Nuggets, and won in a unimpressive display.  One thing I'll say is that they are communicating more than ever before, particularly on offense.  It reminds me of coaching drills where the entire team runs with their arms raised on defense in order to make the point that whenever somebody has the ball, they could shoot and that way you already have your hands in their face.  It seemed a little overdone in the same way, all five guys shouting about where they are, who they have, who is open, where they're going, what they had for dinner, that girl in the skirt sitting court-side...

In walking around Target Center's concourse, it just gets depressing.  Being preseason means only about half the vendors are open for business, which makes it look that much more half-assed.  The lighting is poor, the floors are coated with what looks like permanent scum/brown-ness and the architecture is somewhere between minimal and complete boredom.  Target Center has not aged well.  I've been to plenty of concerts at Target Center in the past two decades and they are all, without exception, a complete disappointment.  The architects who designed the place must have really hated music.  The sound is so bad it seems like it had to be done on purpose.  Whether it's Beck or Nine Inch Nails or Tool or whoever, the sound is just appalling.  That is the main reason I'm not going to see Gorillaz in concert, because it isn't worth the hefty price tag for what becomes distorted, convoluted mash.  If I want the experience I'll just blast their album into my headphones and give myself a swirly in the toilet.  

Now, just to its north sits Target Field, a stadium where everything seems to have been done just right, just so.  From the limestone integration pulled from Minnesota's bluffs to the widened concourse to the 'gourmet' and standard food choices to the beautiful sight lines, the stadium is near perfect.  And as you take in a Twins game, there sits among the scenic Minneapolis skyline the eyesore that is Target Center, a portly 'oops' on the horizon.  Its just sad, and it seems there's no going back.  Not without major reconstruction, and I don't know a single person who could be convinced to spend that kind of money on the perpetual disappointment that is the Minnesota Timberwolves.

So, raise your glass to Target Center's owners, the City of Minneapolis and their annual inhabitants for eighty-some games of misery, to the season ticket holders, the hardcore fans, the gluttons for punishment that fill the seats.  I'll be drinking to you, too.

CD Players turn 28

The (consumer) CD player turns 28 today!  The original poster I’m reblogging this from asks if iPods will be around for 28 years as well.  I say no.  Particularly in consumer goods, the time between revolutions (get it?  it works in talking about lp’s and tapes and cd’s because they all run in circles.  get it now?)  is becoming shorter and shorter.  The phonograph lasted just over a hundred years, replaced by various sizes of recorded tape, replaced within 20 years by compact discs, which are now petering out, reaching the end of their useful life.
I’ve stopped buying cd’s altogether.  I don’t like owning a piece of media anymore, unless it’s on record, because I’m still a sucker for the analog sound.  Besides, between the disc itself and the plastic packaging it comes in, I feel like it is irresponsible to keep a toxic plastic industry alive when it is no longer necessary, when it has reached the end of it’s useful life.
The introduction of the mp3 and companies like Napster in the early/mid-ninties marked yet another shift of recorded media.  In a lot of ways, the record companies and labels are still trying to cope with digital media.  It also marks the end of a different trend, where each successive graduation from record to tape to cd was due to a technological improvement in the accuracy of sound reproductions.  But with mp3’s, a lot of the original is removed to compress the file into a much smaller version.  It’s really a step backwards as far as quality, but in terms of storage and portability, it is a giant leap forward.  I feel like mp3’s are to cds as Nirvana was to Guns n Roses, just less immediate.  It marks the end of one era, the begininning of the next.
The iPod came out in 2001.  A long line of mostly inferior imitations followed, but never really measured up.  The software for the iPod has improved as well, with a more convincing shuffle feature, indexing and organizational enhancements.  The iPod itself has split into separate products and diversified.  Even that, I feel, has been surpassed by the iPhone, launched in 2007.  With the iPhone came an entire new market through Apps.  Even though the foist their own morality on all their consumers, they’ve still exceeded 6.5 billion downloads through their App Store.  (Of course, that could be helped by the fact that many apps have to be re-downloaded with each successive iOS upgrade, but that’s another story.)
So here we are, after records ruled for 110 years, tape for 20, cd’s for 20, mp3’s and portable music players for coming up on ten years.  I can’t fathom what it will be, but I don’t think the next revolution is too far away, what form it will take or what.  But if you can improve on something I can purchase through my phone, transfer to my computer, a car, something that never degrades, I welcome it with open arms and a generous portion of my budget.



 tdrrecords:

28 Years Ago Today
October 1, 2010

On October 1, 1982, Sony launched the first consumer compact disc player (model CDP-101). I wonder if the iPod will last 28 years.

Independence

Weekend,

I'm not a big fan of you.  Just thought you should know.

Sincerely,
Me

Weekend I will grant you this: Nobody should hit up two happy hours and then get behind the wheel of anything, much less behind the front wheel of a bicycle.  It is not your fault that when I got onto said bicycle that the ass ripped out of my shorts.  They were camouflage knickers, so really, that was more or less a favor.  You also didn't encourage me in any way to race my roommate home, nor did you suggest cutting through a parking lot and alley to try and beat him when he took "the long way."  And when I took a wide corner, there was nothing but momentum that pushed me into and over the curb, throwing me off my bike and into the dirt.  Luck was clearly still enough on my side that I didn't hit a tree, the curb itself, or the wrought iron fence next to the trees.
A woman shouted, "I'm calling 911!"  When I finally came to a stop.  "I'm good!"  I yelled, popping up a little faster than I should in an attempt to prove myself right.  So there I was, half covered in dirt and scratches, ass of my shorts ripped wide open, shaking the dirt out of my hair looking absolutely ridiculous and not at all good like I said I was.  I picked up my bike, poor Lucille, and the drop handlebars were turned and locked under the top bar.  My bike was stuck turned 90 degrees left and if I got back on all I could do was perfect circles.  Did I pick  up my appx 13lb bike and simply carry it home to fix it gently and with care?  No.  There was what qualifies as a crowd around me, watching in bewilderment waiting to see if I collapsed with brain injury or something interesting.  I wanted out and I didn't want to carry anything; I wanted to be carried.  So I just started pounding away at the handlebars and after about 20 seconds they broke free.  I turned and the woman still had her phone in her hand.  I imagine she dialed the numbers and just had her thumb over the Send button when I passed out.  I got on my bike, she turned away.  Right, my ass was hanging out.  "Sorry" I told her and rolled away.  Trevor stood over his bike, baffled, when I came around the corner.  I showed him my torn up arm and leg and he laughed.  As he should.  We changed and headed to the Twins game.  Beautiful new stadium.  They won, or so I read the next day.

Fast forward to Sunday, Weekend, as Saturday was nothing really but work and more work.  It sucked and was full of dread because I had to come back the next day to work second shift on the fourth of July.  Nothing like fireworks from an office building.  I got up Sunday morning, dread intact, and surveyed the apartment.  Kind of trashed.  Dog and cat hair all over the floor, dishes in the sink, all the good stuff.  So I started in the kitchen.  I decided to wash the french press so I could have some coffee to serve as liquid motivation to get me to clean the rest of the apartment and not sit down to play seventeen consecutive games of Modern Warfare 2 (3rd Prestige Level 48, if you're wondering) before work.  Unfortunately the french press' spout was broken, but the rest was intact, so no real problem there.  No real problem, that is, until I ran the broken piece into the webbing between my forefinger and my thumb.  I dropped the glass into the sink and yelled a couple expletives.  I knew I needed stitches.  It didn't hurt yet, but blood had pooled up at the wound and I knew it would if I stared at it long enough.  I was hopeful at first because there wasn't really any blood coming out, but when Sass and I took a good look at it I knew I was going to need stitches.  I knew that it would mean I couldn't work that day, but that it wasn't deep enough to miss any additional days of work.  So much for double time and a half.  However, I did wind up getting a surprise afternoon with my girlfriend, which is great.  We made the best of it at a Irish bar/restaurant and at Brit's Pub.  I wasn't feeling too patriotic, we didn't make it down to fireworks (by choice, mostly, even if it was passive), but the mood was generally celebratory.  Downtown was alive with people, some walking, a helluva lot of people biking.  In the 2+ hours we sat at the Local, we counted 21 Nice Ride bikes, part of the bike-sharing program here in Minneapolis.  That was where the injury really sank in, as I'd been delivered the news that I wasn't to bike until the stitches were out in 10 days, which is longer than you might think, as I do not own a car.
So you see, Weekend, you ended well.  More importantly, you ended at all.  Now I can take a deep breath, hope that it's all over, and focus on the real things in life like the exciting conclusion of LeBrachelor.

Betty 150

We came. We biked. We ate like gluttons.
It was a good ride. It was almost entirely flat and the wind was at
out backs for all but about a mile or two biking up to Grand Casino.
The only semi-serious hill came right at the end of day two, right
before the finish line. At that point it felt more like a screw you
than anything.
Still, this was no Gitchi Gammi ride with it's four and five mikes of
inclines on a route designed by an blatant sadist.
Flat trails and friendly winds doesn't mean it was easy. Because it
wasn't easy.
We bused from White Bear Lake up to Proctor on Friday afternoon,
arriving in a miserable mix of wind and rain. It had been raining all
day, so when we went onto the football field at proctor hs, it was
right about level with the water table. All three of us groaned at the
same time at water filled our shoes. It wasn't a great start. We set
up our tents an headed into town.
For anybody in Proctor, I would recommend hitting up some place other
than Chasers for a meal. Granted, they were ridiculously busy, but the
food we got was just foul. Scratch that. Tina's food that arrived 15
mintes late but looked a lot better than our bacon cheeseburgers. I
don't know how you screw up a bacon cheeseburger and onion rings, but
they found a way. We got out on the last bus back to tent city at about eleven o'clock.
Luckily we wound up with pretty much watertight tents. Unluckily, we
had unwittingly set our pretty much watertight tents right next to the
very loud and quite inebriated Team Target, who made no secret that
they had come to party. They eventually simmered down just in time
for the storm to really pick up.
The wind shook the tent hard, and I was convinced that I would eventually wake up in a puddle with it collapsed on top of me.  When the gusts came in, Trevor's tent wall leaned in and repeatedly smacked him in the face.   Eventually we all drifted off to sleep.  An estimated 2 1/2 to 3 hours later, it was already time to get up. 
Here's something you should know about the MS150 ride.  This year they have a special appearance by a not so special Clay Walker, a country music singer with MS.  He was to sing the Star Spangled Banner and lead the riders out as the Grand Marshall of the ride, which is all fine and good, but it meant sitting there for 45 minutes.  So our plan was to get up, eat breakfast, track our bikes down and get outta Dodge (okay, Proctor) before 6:30.  We got up at five, left the tent and found out that everybody else had the same idea.  There were about half the tents than there were the night before.  However, Team Target's area was showing no signs of life.  I have to admit, I was definitely tempted to make a ruckus right back at them, but I just got my tent together and walked down to breakfast.  There was a serious line for breakfast, but it went by fast and soon we found ourselves face to face with a stack of pancakes, yogurt and fairly weak coffee.
Afterward, we tracked our bikes down, luckily not submerged in water and headed to the starting line.  The streets were so crowded with like-minded people that we wound up two minutes later than the deadline, which meant we were to be subjected to opening ceremonies.  They weren't too painful, but we were all chomping at the bit to get started.  One guy nearby summed it up pretty well when he yelled, "Drop the puck!"  He was kind of an asshole, but I agreed with him.  The weather hadn't really improved since the night before.  There was a lighter wind than the night before and it was about 47 degrees.  There also seemed to be two different types of precipitation.  I'm not sure how, but it seemed to be misting and raining at the same time.  And it was foggy.  It was certainly not a day where I'd look out the window and think to myself, "What a great day for a ride!"  It would be more of a day to go back to bed.  At noon.
Eventually they let us go after the Banner, after some speeches and after all the large corporate teams we let out.  Everybody was finding their groove for the first few miles, trying to establish a uniform pace and work around all the people we were passing and that were passing us.  It took a couple rest stops (appx 25 miles) for us to really figure it out, but after we found our groove it was a lot easier.  The riding itself was largely uneventful.  Although at the second rest stop I got up to one of the tents and was so excited to get fresh cantaloupe and grapes that I forgot my manners.  A lady who'd gotten up ata the same time I did to volunteer for the ride was kind enough to remind me of this by shouting "You're welcome!" after me.  I stopped in my tracks and turned around.  Her daughter was mortified and staring straight at me.  I apologized and thanked her in the same sentence, taking my fruit and Honey Nut Cheerios with me.
Fast forward to the end of the ride.  We were pretty tuckered out by the time we hit Hinckley, but urged on by the promise of a place to sleep, showers and the massive buffet at Grand Casino.  We were staying on their campgrounds, so it was a short walk to what seemed like paradise at that point.  But before we got there we were greeted by a significant headwind for the last few miles.  It seemed like we were driving into a middle finger. It had stopped raining, too, so we had that going for us.
Again we set up camp, but there was something missing from my load.  I only had one sleeping bag where I had two the night before.  All the people who help out are nice and I'm sure mean well, but apparently....well, lose things.  We looked around for a bit, but I couldn't be bothered, this animal inside me named hunger took hold and we pushed on to the casino.

Now, last time I did an MS ride I ran through everything I ate.  It was an impressive list that included a full pizza.  It was my intention to mirror that this time around.  Here's the problem.  I blacked out at some point.  I can't remember it all.  Here's what I know for sure: I cleared four full plates and two dessert plates.  Sure, the first plate was a salad, but this thing made a Cobb salad look like a little bitch.  Here's the rest of my partial list:
5 cream cheese wontons
1 egg roll
2 chicken wings, buffalo
Cashew Beef with white rice
Cheese Omelet
Roughly 6 strips of bacon
One country biscuit slathered in gravy
Cornbread muffin
I know there's so much more, but I have no idea what that could even be.  I have witnesses for the number of plates, as for content I can't say.  I'm shocked I was able to walk out.  However, as we left we were greeted by more rain.  The prospect of heading back into the rain only to sit in a tent was not a good one.  Instead we sat at the bar, got some drinks and watched ESPN, one of my favorite past times.  We all took a few shots, had a few beers and decided it was time to leave.  Again, it was raining, though not as hard. 
As it turned out, it was dinner time in the big tent.  Yeah, we ate again.  They served penne with marinara, breadsticks and salad.  After a few more beers from the Budweiser truck it seemed things were winding down with us, but the people at the table next to us advised we go the (former title sponsors) Larkin Hoffman attorney's tent to take on what was left of their Rudolph's BBQ catering.  In addition to Heineken, Trevor and Tina came away with full racks of ribs and I got a piece of chicken that was roughly the size of three of my fists.  And I ate all of it.  I can't believe I put all that food away.  I can't believe what I ate rivals, nay dwarfs riding my bike 150 miles.  Somehow gluttony wins out over physical endurance.  I might be ashamed if I wasn't so amazed.
After that mess/feat, we slept very well until a more modest seven.  We were in no rush to get back on our bikes in the morning, so we took our time, lounged around, ate breakfast twice and were back on the road (trail) by nine.  Getting back on the bike elicited a response by one rider that I feel represented a lot of us, "OWW, my ass, oh god, my ass!"  It wasn't quite that bad, but there were certainly tender spots.
The ride the second day went without a hitch and we were treated to a whopping 5 minutes of sunshine at one point.  The nice thing about the cloud cover was it kept it pretty cool, which I would prefer for riding over a humid, sweaty day if given the choice.
I ate two breakfasts that morning, a stack of pancakes, yogurt, some kind of oatmeal bar and a cup of coffee each.  I wasn't really that full as we set out.
The second day went by without a hitch, which was nice, because I was expecting to be a lot slower and more sore than I was.  I suppose if you brace for the worst anything short of that is a happy surprise.  The only downer of note came at the lunch rest stop that day when they'd run out of tortilla wraps with meat in them, and only  had vegetarian options left.  Now, I have no problem with vegetarian options.  I like vegetables.  But these wraps are for bikers who have topped 100 miles in a day and a half.  People like that need a little protein.  Instead we were given a bit of iceberg lettuce, a couple tomato slices and a dash of sprouts wrapped in a sad, soggy tortilla.  A dollop of ranch dressing did nothing for the taste.  Lunch fail, MS Society...
We biked on the side of the road most of the day, mixed with a few trails here and there, but towards the end of the ride the course ventured into the residential neighborhoods, weaving through suburban streets eventually leading to a trail along White Bear Lake.  There was a very nice moment when we passed a woman at the end of her driveway doing her best to thank everybody for their hard work and thank you for helping her specifically because she had MS herself.  It meant a lot to us to have that face to put to the event, the cause and all the work we'd put into the ride.
Right before the finish line, there was a hill.  Not a horrible hill, but a hill no less.  All these people had to cap their 150 miles of riding with the biking equivalent of the middle finger.  That's kind of what it felt like, anyway, but once we got up the hill it was smooth and flat and there were cheers and noisemakers and it felt really good to pass the giant orange Finish line.

All in all it was a really great time, I had fun with my two unlikely riding partners and I really do appreciate all the help from everybody who donated on my (and our) behalf.  Looking forward to another ride next year.

MN MS 150

Click any link on this post to Accept the Challenge (donate)

So...I'm at it again. Two years later, and a little beefed up this time, as in five times as long and over the course of two days instead of one. I did well last time. This time I intend to do better.

73 cents on the dollar goes straight to work in the fight against MS. Here are some examples of donations at work:

• Emergency financial assistance to help steer families out of a crisis
• Independent Living Grants to help people with MS purchase products and services to adapt to the disease, such as respite care for care partners, aids for daily living, chore services and home or vehicle modification
• Nearly 70 self-help groups
• Information and referral services
• 
  
  Educational programs about research, treatments, symptom
  management and more
  
  

• Exercise and wellness programs
• Programs for youth who have a parent or relative with MS
• Social and educational opportunities for people with MS and care partners, friends and families
• 
  
  Advocacy efforts on critical issues that affect the quality of life for
  people with MS
  
  
  
  
  
  

Click here to donate! http://y.ahoo.it/pSJWWc (or read on...)

My goal is $1000. It's steep, I know, but that's what I want to shoot for. Last time I aimed for less than that and wound up getting more than that. I'm going to work to make that happen again.

Here's why donating is awesome:

1. I do all the work. I bike so you don't have to. Think of me as your surrogate, as the nerd you pay to write your papers in high school.

2. You feel good about yourself now AND later. You can walk around thinking or talking about how good you feel that today, you did something really nice for a lot of people who can use all the help they can get. And next April, you can feel good again by writing said donation off.

3. We get one step closer to reclaiming abilities lost to MS.

4. Because I said so.

5. Because our team name is 'The Betty Whites,' and Betty would appreciate it. So do it. Please. Betty would definitely say please.

Click here to Donate! You'll feel better. I promise.

The Big Pink

My new roommate asked me last night if I'd heard of The Big Pink, and I told him yes. He asked if they were any good, and I told him that yeah, they're pretty good. Most people I know love the song Domino and the rest of their music I've heard hasn't disappointed.
"Are they $14 good?" He asked, and I told him probably. We both wound up going. I figured the show would have been sold out, but it wasn't. I think it was close, but we were able to get tickets right as the opening band was finishing.
I have differing opinions on opening bands, fluctuating often between 'hey lets give these guys a chance' and 'get off the stage so I can see what a paid for!' Most of the time I'm closer to the latter.
I can't really ever tell when something makes me angry or irate, something like a band, whether it's because I don't like them because they're so pretentious or if I don't like them because I'm envious of their fame and their touring of other countries playing music. And I can feel that creeping feeling common in older people who think that any person younger than them is obnoxious, but really they miss being in their early 20's and not caring. I was doing it in a house in north Minneapolis, up in bum-fuck Melrose and elsewhere. Never was I on a stage in a foreign country performing for hundreds of people. Given my jaded self and my high degree of criticism, The Big Pink didn't really stand a chance.
I did appreciate the beginning of their set where they played 'Hits from the Bong' by Cypress Hill while they got set up, but I was hoping they'd do more with it in their first song. But they didn't, it just faded away into the wall of noise they built as they all got set up. The first thing I thought when singer/guitarist so and walked on stage was, "Look! It's a little Joe Strummer!"
Sometimes I can listen to songs and just like them for what they are, but in the course of the night, and the band's need to spend all their time on slow, droning ballads. Lame. But more lame is me not knowing that beforehand. I liked it when they picked it up, but that was only right at the beginning and right at the end. I kept making mental comparisons through the night to big, famous, respectable bands. The Clash, of course, sometimes the singer reminded me of Jim Morrison (Also? I was a little drunk. But the comparison is actually true in parts. Sort of.), Ian Astbury from The Cult and others I don't recall due to aforementioned alcohol abuse. However, the most true comparison came out of the guy next to me said, "Why would you want to sound like the Smashing Pumpkins?" And I laughed long and hard because it was the most true of all.