It's always something. I got a call a while ago to do a re-crew job instead of my regular point A to point B gig. Sort of unusual but not unheard of and I didn't particularly mind. Hey, a little variety once in a while is ok sometimes.
Turns out, a southbound crew had had a pack of trouble with their train along the way and had run out of time right on the main track. They effectively become a cork in the bottle until somebody got there to take over and get the thing moving again. We were nominated to hop in a van, chase them down and take the train on south. Since we got about three different versions of where the train was parked, it took quite a while to actually find the crossing where they ended up but eventually, the cavalry came riding out of the sunset to the rescue.
Turns out there was a couple of railfans equipped with video already there waiting for something to move. I've seen these same photogs out and about many times chasing us around the area but this time they got us starting out from a standstill instead of just rollling by.
Here's the results...
Thanks for the video guys...to me it's just a cold day at the 'office' but it's kinda nice to put on a show while we're at it.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Desperation Ride
I couldn't resist. The thermometer cracked 40 yesterday and I went out on the mountain bike. Yeah, I remember I groused a whole blog post about the cold and hating it so much but I'm also about done with being a houseplant. So sue me...
The plan was to drag out one of my old battleships...a two-wheeled, double-sprung, much-abused steel monstrosity from a big-box that weighs almost as much as my truck. Heavy, slow, expendable, this is the tool most suitable for a ride in the salt and slush; I knew I kept it around the shed for some reason.
In another winter, I destroyed a similar big lug (actually, dissolved is a better word) cruising on salty winter roads. Everything on it rusted solid in one season and no amount of WD-40 could bring it back. Even the freewheel developed a nasty little suprise once the rust reached inside the cogs...it became common for it to lock up at random moments; a pesky inconvenience which made the bike into the worlds most dangerously unpredictable fixie. You never knew when the ratchet would catch while coasting and at the very least, fling your feet off the pedals and bang your knees on the bars or at worst, toss your feet off and then jam the pedal against your calf. This would lead to some 'epic' elephant skids and usually wad up the whole works in a roadside pile. I'm really happy I hadn't discovered clipless pedals back then. The idea of being locked onto cranks rotating like a washer on spin gives me visions of ambulance rides and knee replacements. It was all thrilling for sure but not especially enjoyable.
I foresaw a similar fate for the current corrodable occupant of the garage. A quick twist of the front derailleur shot down 'Plan A' though as the cable instantly parted at the bottom of the guide loop that 'Excitor' cleverly designed to retain any and all moisture where it can do the most damage. That left the Trek up to bat. I hated the idea of taking aluminum out in the crud but figured I'd stick to the trails if I could and avoid as much salt as possible. Lucky for me, the snowmobiles have packed the paths as hard as a sidewalk and a couple of above-freezing days followed by clear, cold nights have iced everything solid on top. Following the posted trails over the hill behind my house worked out pretty well except for an occasional drop into a soft spot that brought me down to a crawl. Oh, how out of shape I am. The climb up the hill damn near killed me and those stretches of softer snow just about buried me. Who's idea was this anyway?
Eventually, I crested on the hilltop and stopped long enough for the fire to go out in my legs and my heart to quit pounding all the way up to the back of my eyeballs. Whoever said it was cold out is a liar, I'm sweating like a galley slave. As a side observation: You know, the world looks really strange when seen with a fuzzy purple fringe around the edge of your vision, the one you see right before you pass out from lack of oxygen. No, I didn't pass out...yes, I wanted to. Kids, I'm telling you true...I'm REALLY out of shape.
Once my breathing slowed a little and my heart settled to the point of no longer feeling like I needed a pacemaker, I collected myself, looked around and remembered one of the reasons why I started doing this in the first place...the view from the top:
I wound up in an open field on top of a hill with a view over the whole hometown valley. Once again, I'd stumbled onto a place within a couple miles of home that I've never seen before. If one thing hadn't led to another, I would have missed it again. Makes me think I probably won't live long enough to see all the horizons, hidden little wonders and small mysteries to be found right in my own back yard...but it'll be worth a try.
A bit of R&R and now it's back down the other side of the hill. This was all new to me but I know every marked trail has to come out somewhere so damn the torpedoes and down we go. This piece of trail wisdom (or lack of) has led to some unplanned adventures before. It is true that sooner or later, you'll pop out of the woods someplace so it's pretty hard to get lost, the catch is that you never know what might be lurking in between where you are and where you'll pop. There's some really steep and deep places around here that are sucker traps for the unwary. Routes that are designed for vehicles burning dead dinosaurs are particularly risky as the trail blazers don't worry too much about long, steep climbs when all they have to do is push a little harder with their right thumb to get out. Wide, cleated tracks turned by big engines are one thing, I on the other hand have skinny, mostly worn out tires powered by very low octane old legs. I've had to accept defeat and walk out more than once.
This time, I got lucky and no 'portage' was involved. It was all descent...and steeper descent...and switchbacks...and ice...and soft snow...then a drop like a cliff followed by the sudden stop of the front wheel in a rut without proper notification to the rear. I clearly remember watching Doc smacking himself in the back of the head with his own rear tire on a downhill once and now I know how it's done. His classic endo tossed him in the pricker bushes though while I only fluffed to a landing upside down and half-unclipped in a Kama Sutra position, spitting dead leaves and tangled in bike, brush and a snowbank. There's times like this when it's better to be riding alone as no one is there to laugh out loud while trying to sound sympathetic when you embarrass your silly self so blatantly. Unless you happen to fracture your skull on the landing it's better. Some things I'd rather not think about.
Unwinding from the contortions, I found no harm done but to pride so I got off easy. I guess you have to pay somehow when you wander blindly around the woods in the dead of winter and this one was cheap.
Now being soaked from shoulders to chamois from rolling in wet snow, I concluded that that was about the end of trail riding for the day. I tiptoed down the rest of the sled path and found myself on a familiar dirt road. I decided against any more bushwhacking unless something presented itself that I couldn't refuse. As things were warming up, the trails were getting more and more sloppy anyway and the burning legs weren't having anything to do with climbs in two inches of mush. I say to myself, "Self, it's a mountain bike, not a snow machine stupid, you're ridiculously weak right now and the next crash-landing might not be so easy...ride the back roads home and stay out of the drifts. Duh." I'll go with that.
Concluding that it'll be a couple more rides before I'm ready for the big time again, I tucked tail and headed up the frozen dirt trying not to hit the salty mud puddles any more than I had to. Save the bike at least.
Yeah, it's still winter out there but there's at least hope for spring I think. Doesn't look like it in my last shot of the afternoon taken somewhere along one of those half-frozen dirt roads but I have faith.
After one more go at a trail which failed spectacularly, I managed to slog back into my driveway with the light fading and the temp. dropping. Only 12 miles and change for the outing so not really a prizewinner or record-setter by any means but with luck, yesterdays little soiree in the snow is only the start of a really good year in the hills. I have faith.
The plan was to drag out one of my old battleships...a two-wheeled, double-sprung, much-abused steel monstrosity from a big-box that weighs almost as much as my truck. Heavy, slow, expendable, this is the tool most suitable for a ride in the salt and slush; I knew I kept it around the shed for some reason.
In another winter, I destroyed a similar big lug (actually, dissolved is a better word) cruising on salty winter roads. Everything on it rusted solid in one season and no amount of WD-40 could bring it back. Even the freewheel developed a nasty little suprise once the rust reached inside the cogs...it became common for it to lock up at random moments; a pesky inconvenience which made the bike into the worlds most dangerously unpredictable fixie. You never knew when the ratchet would catch while coasting and at the very least, fling your feet off the pedals and bang your knees on the bars or at worst, toss your feet off and then jam the pedal against your calf. This would lead to some 'epic' elephant skids and usually wad up the whole works in a roadside pile. I'm really happy I hadn't discovered clipless pedals back then. The idea of being locked onto cranks rotating like a washer on spin gives me visions of ambulance rides and knee replacements. It was all thrilling for sure but not especially enjoyable.
I foresaw a similar fate for the current corrodable occupant of the garage. A quick twist of the front derailleur shot down 'Plan A' though as the cable instantly parted at the bottom of the guide loop that 'Excitor' cleverly designed to retain any and all moisture where it can do the most damage. That left the Trek up to bat. I hated the idea of taking aluminum out in the crud but figured I'd stick to the trails if I could and avoid as much salt as possible. Lucky for me, the snowmobiles have packed the paths as hard as a sidewalk and a couple of above-freezing days followed by clear, cold nights have iced everything solid on top. Following the posted trails over the hill behind my house worked out pretty well except for an occasional drop into a soft spot that brought me down to a crawl. Oh, how out of shape I am. The climb up the hill damn near killed me and those stretches of softer snow just about buried me. Who's idea was this anyway?
Eventually, I crested on the hilltop and stopped long enough for the fire to go out in my legs and my heart to quit pounding all the way up to the back of my eyeballs. Whoever said it was cold out is a liar, I'm sweating like a galley slave. As a side observation: You know, the world looks really strange when seen with a fuzzy purple fringe around the edge of your vision, the one you see right before you pass out from lack of oxygen. No, I didn't pass out...yes, I wanted to. Kids, I'm telling you true...I'm REALLY out of shape.
Once my breathing slowed a little and my heart settled to the point of no longer feeling like I needed a pacemaker, I collected myself, looked around and remembered one of the reasons why I started doing this in the first place...the view from the top:
 |
A bit of R&R and now it's back down the other side of the hill. This was all new to me but I know every marked trail has to come out somewhere so damn the torpedoes and down we go. This piece of trail wisdom (or lack of) has led to some unplanned adventures before. It is true that sooner or later, you'll pop out of the woods someplace so it's pretty hard to get lost, the catch is that you never know what might be lurking in between where you are and where you'll pop. There's some really steep and deep places around here that are sucker traps for the unwary. Routes that are designed for vehicles burning dead dinosaurs are particularly risky as the trail blazers don't worry too much about long, steep climbs when all they have to do is push a little harder with their right thumb to get out. Wide, cleated tracks turned by big engines are one thing, I on the other hand have skinny, mostly worn out tires powered by very low octane old legs. I've had to accept defeat and walk out more than once.
This time, I got lucky and no 'portage' was involved. It was all descent...and steeper descent...and switchbacks...and ice...and soft snow...then a drop like a cliff followed by the sudden stop of the front wheel in a rut without proper notification to the rear. I clearly remember watching Doc smacking himself in the back of the head with his own rear tire on a downhill once and now I know how it's done. His classic endo tossed him in the pricker bushes though while I only fluffed to a landing upside down and half-unclipped in a Kama Sutra position, spitting dead leaves and tangled in bike, brush and a snowbank. There's times like this when it's better to be riding alone as no one is there to laugh out loud while trying to sound sympathetic when you embarrass your silly self so blatantly. Unless you happen to fracture your skull on the landing it's better. Some things I'd rather not think about.
Unwinding from the contortions, I found no harm done but to pride so I got off easy. I guess you have to pay somehow when you wander blindly around the woods in the dead of winter and this one was cheap.
Now being soaked from shoulders to chamois from rolling in wet snow, I concluded that that was about the end of trail riding for the day. I tiptoed down the rest of the sled path and found myself on a familiar dirt road. I decided against any more bushwhacking unless something presented itself that I couldn't refuse. As things were warming up, the trails were getting more and more sloppy anyway and the burning legs weren't having anything to do with climbs in two inches of mush. I say to myself, "Self, it's a mountain bike, not a snow machine stupid, you're ridiculously weak right now and the next crash-landing might not be so easy...ride the back roads home and stay out of the drifts. Duh." I'll go with that.
Concluding that it'll be a couple more rides before I'm ready for the big time again, I tucked tail and headed up the frozen dirt trying not to hit the salty mud puddles any more than I had to. Save the bike at least.
Yeah, it's still winter out there but there's at least hope for spring I think. Doesn't look like it in my last shot of the afternoon taken somewhere along one of those half-frozen dirt roads but I have faith.
After one more go at a trail which failed spectacularly, I managed to slog back into my driveway with the light fading and the temp. dropping. Only 12 miles and change for the outing so not really a prizewinner or record-setter by any means but with luck, yesterdays little soiree in the snow is only the start of a really good year in the hills. I have faith.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Is It Spring Yet?
Like everyone except skiers, snowmobilers and other assorted 'hardy' types, I'm looking out the window, watching it snow, groping my way through winter and waiting for the first glimmer of spring. They say every year in the lead-up to winter that "it's going to be a bad one" and this time the naysayers might just have been right.
I know, I know; if you live in NY, you have to expect crummy weather about 2/3 of the time anyway but by this point in the year, I've had about enough of the cold. Nothing against you winter sports people but there's something about volunteering to go out in the snow unless you really have to that doesn't make much sense to me any more. To each his own I guess but I'd rather be just a tad warmer in my old age. Wet feet, aching knees and numb fingers have very little appeal to me anymore even if I wanted to tempt the fates and go outside. Snow shoveling is pretty much my limit and I believe I've also had about enough of that for the year as well. The driveway will have to melt it's own self 'cause I don't think I'm scraping it by hand again.
I think of the days when I rode a motorcycle almost all year-round and wonder how in hell I ever managed it. My face would get so cold I thought it would shatter and it took all my upper-body strength just to pull in the clutch. My leathers froze solid more than once while out riding somewhere in December or January but I rarely surrendered until I couldn't get out of the driveway anymore because of the snowdrifts. When it really got down there, the old scoot would sometimes give up to the almost-solidified 50 weight oil and refuse to start. No problem. I'd jump the thing off the car battery and force it back to life but would I drive the car? Nope. Just add more layers and saddle up. Ahh, to be young and tough. And stupid, really stupid.
I distinctly remember drafting trucks on the interstate to get out of the wind and sleet riding north from Florida in October once upon a time. Or hunting desperately for a motel in a New England snowstorm after we got run out of Montpelier Vermont by the local cops (another good story for another day). New Years day and 15 below was probably the dumbest of moments but getting smacked in the face by an early-spring robin when it was about 25 above hurt the worst.
There's a line between dedicated and idiotic that I crossed repeatedly up 'till about 15 years ago but as time went on, those kinds of escapades made my knees ache for days and bleeding windburn lost a lot of its appeal. Most times lately I don't even feel like venturing out to my truck to go to work when the temperature is below 30. I think that's why I put the old Hog on the cover for now...a reminder that shortly after the inevitable season of mud will come a season of warm and I won't feel so much like living under a rock. We'll ride again but the frost will be out of the ground and the salt off the blacktop before it happens.
The one and only consolation of winter in my opinion is that once in a while, the sun does peek out on a fresh snow and the world actually becomes a postcard place.
I know, I know; if you live in NY, you have to expect crummy weather about 2/3 of the time anyway but by this point in the year, I've had about enough of the cold. Nothing against you winter sports people but there's something about volunteering to go out in the snow unless you really have to that doesn't make much sense to me any more. To each his own I guess but I'd rather be just a tad warmer in my old age. Wet feet, aching knees and numb fingers have very little appeal to me anymore even if I wanted to tempt the fates and go outside. Snow shoveling is pretty much my limit and I believe I've also had about enough of that for the year as well. The driveway will have to melt it's own self 'cause I don't think I'm scraping it by hand again.
I think of the days when I rode a motorcycle almost all year-round and wonder how in hell I ever managed it. My face would get so cold I thought it would shatter and it took all my upper-body strength just to pull in the clutch. My leathers froze solid more than once while out riding somewhere in December or January but I rarely surrendered until I couldn't get out of the driveway anymore because of the snowdrifts. When it really got down there, the old scoot would sometimes give up to the almost-solidified 50 weight oil and refuse to start. No problem. I'd jump the thing off the car battery and force it back to life but would I drive the car? Nope. Just add more layers and saddle up. Ahh, to be young and tough. And stupid, really stupid.
I distinctly remember drafting trucks on the interstate to get out of the wind and sleet riding north from Florida in October once upon a time. Or hunting desperately for a motel in a New England snowstorm after we got run out of Montpelier Vermont by the local cops (another good story for another day). New Years day and 15 below was probably the dumbest of moments but getting smacked in the face by an early-spring robin when it was about 25 above hurt the worst.
There's a line between dedicated and idiotic that I crossed repeatedly up 'till about 15 years ago but as time went on, those kinds of escapades made my knees ache for days and bleeding windburn lost a lot of its appeal. Most times lately I don't even feel like venturing out to my truck to go to work when the temperature is below 30. I think that's why I put the old Hog on the cover for now...a reminder that shortly after the inevitable season of mud will come a season of warm and I won't feel so much like living under a rock. We'll ride again but the frost will be out of the ground and the salt off the blacktop before it happens.
The one and only consolation of winter in my opinion is that once in a while, the sun does peek out on a fresh snow and the world actually becomes a postcard place.
Trust me, it looks a whole lot prettier in the daylight photo than it did when I was trying to drive home at three in the morning. The snow was much less impressive when it was pitch dark out, the snow was blowing sideways in the wind and even the plow guys hadn't ventured out of their lairs for time-and-a-half yet. The only tracks on the road for the last 15 miles of my commute were my own.
There has to be an end to this. I get so I'd do anything to see green again and dump the winter gear out of my grip. I'll hang up the Carhartts and put away the snow shovels soon enough but 'till then, it's still winter out there and the old guy is bundling up for another trip.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Busted Flat...Waitin' For a Train.
It's a Sunday again...or at least it was when I started this entry. And it's another one of those days. I'm reminded of that line from my old girl Janice. She was in Baton Rouge but Pearl knew what it was like..."...feeling near as faded as my jeans." She sang her throat raw on the blues and died young but she knew. Waiting to go to work and watching the snow fall. I'm sick of winter and cold and wet and dark. I need some sunshine. Yeah...I need some sunshine.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Looking Over My Shoulder (In more ways than one)
I've been dragging my feet again. Seems like there's never enough hours between trips to do all the stuff that needs doing...to say nothing of the stuff that HAS to be done. Little things like spending 5 hours shoveling the driveway last week. My shoulder still aches from that one. I must be getting old...I've pitched snow and every other material that would fit on a shovel by hand since I can remember what a shovel was, now it hurts. You know what I call this blog: "Adventures in Middle Age"...well, this middle age crap is not much of an adventure sometimes. I wish AARP would take me off their mailing list so I wasn't reminded all the time.
Another milestone is coming up next week but I'll just let that one go by without much comment. It's one of those 'as soon as you turn 50 you have to do this' things that have suddenly crept up on me. I don't even want to think about it.
Billy Connolly describes the process so much better than I could anyway so I'll let him take it from here...Parental Guidance Suggested!
In the meantime, I actually have been busy doing stuff around the Ponderosa. One example: I finally got around and wired the first and second level for sound over the last couple days. I missed having music playing all the time and that was one of the things that'll make this house my house. It wasn't absolutely necessary but it sort of feels more like home.
Chasing Monster Cable through the walls and figuring out series/parallel wiring brought back memories of building speaker arrays back in my DJ days. I built up a set that could bring on auditory destruction and possible hemorrhages at short range. I miss those big stacks of but they were a little much to keep for a home stereo when I got out of the business so I let them go. Wish I hadn't. There's a whole population of future scions of industry and government that will never hear high frequencies or possibly much of anythng else because of that gear. Those tweeters sounded like bacon frying at 120 decibels when you got too close and having your head six inches from the cabinet with everything in the red was definitely much too close. It felt like icepicks in your head to me so I rarely ventured out front when I was really on the sliders hard but the drunk and foolish couldn't feel their eardrums disintegrating and so partied up close and personal with the cabs every time. I saw extensive future sales of Miracle Ears down the line every time we played one of the Greek houses.
The highs and mids were factory but I built the bottom ends from scratch out of used 3/4" plywood, sawing away after hours at the Buildings and Grounds shop I worked in at the time. They were cut from some old Altec Lansing A-7 'Voice of the Theater' plans I scrounged up somewhere and took most of a winter to cut, screw, glue and sand. They were always pretty rough looking in plain old hardware-store flat black even when they were done but I loaded them up with new Peavey Scorpions that moved enough air to rattle the frat boys' piercings and pushed a pair of 1200 watt Crowns to the limit driving them. It wasn't to unusual to have stuff shaking off the walls in the early evening followed by visits from Campus Security before it was over. Even from my perch out of the line of fire behind them, my teeth would vibrate sometimes. It was impossible to play records anywhere near the lows without cutting way back on the equalizer to kill the feedback through the tonearms. How anyone could be out front for four hours at a crack was beyond comprehension. I loved those babies but they were huge and even a house as big as Old Drafty just couldn't handle the mass. It was a bad day when I sent them down the road.
In hindsight, I should have kept at least a pair of my secondary system's SP-2s and a CS-800 to fill in some of the corners of the living room had I known how everything would shake out. That old 20/20 thing...
After all the head-scratching and wire stringing this week, I've got it sounding pretty good for what I've got these days. It ain't too bad but that pro gear was the stuff so the glassware and wall hangings will be safe. Eventually though, I'll get the place set up so I can zip the lid off the turntable case at the drop of a hat and 'put the needle on record' like old times. It won't be the pounding of the frat party days but it'll do. The neighbors are going to hate me.
Another milestone is coming up next week but I'll just let that one go by without much comment. It's one of those 'as soon as you turn 50 you have to do this' things that have suddenly crept up on me. I don't even want to think about it.
Billy Connolly describes the process so much better than I could anyway so I'll let him take it from here...Parental Guidance Suggested!
I can't wait.
_______________________________
Chasing Monster Cable through the walls and figuring out series/parallel wiring brought back memories of building speaker arrays back in my DJ days. I built up a set that could bring on auditory destruction and possible hemorrhages at short range. I miss those big stacks of but they were a little much to keep for a home stereo when I got out of the business so I let them go. Wish I hadn't. There's a whole population of future scions of industry and government that will never hear high frequencies or possibly much of anythng else because of that gear. Those tweeters sounded like bacon frying at 120 decibels when you got too close and having your head six inches from the cabinet with everything in the red was definitely much too close. It felt like icepicks in your head to me so I rarely ventured out front when I was really on the sliders hard but the drunk and foolish couldn't feel their eardrums disintegrating and so partied up close and personal with the cabs every time. I saw extensive future sales of Miracle Ears down the line every time we played one of the Greek houses.
The highs and mids were factory but I built the bottom ends from scratch out of used 3/4" plywood, sawing away after hours at the Buildings and Grounds shop I worked in at the time. They were cut from some old Altec Lansing A-7 'Voice of the Theater' plans I scrounged up somewhere and took most of a winter to cut, screw, glue and sand. They were always pretty rough looking in plain old hardware-store flat black even when they were done but I loaded them up with new Peavey Scorpions that moved enough air to rattle the frat boys' piercings and pushed a pair of 1200 watt Crowns to the limit driving them. It wasn't to unusual to have stuff shaking off the walls in the early evening followed by visits from Campus Security before it was over. Even from my perch out of the line of fire behind them, my teeth would vibrate sometimes. It was impossible to play records anywhere near the lows without cutting way back on the equalizer to kill the feedback through the tonearms. How anyone could be out front for four hours at a crack was beyond comprehension. I loved those babies but they were huge and even a house as big as Old Drafty just couldn't handle the mass. It was a bad day when I sent them down the road.
In hindsight, I should have kept at least a pair of my secondary system's SP-2s and a CS-800 to fill in some of the corners of the living room had I known how everything would shake out. That old 20/20 thing...
After all the head-scratching and wire stringing this week, I've got it sounding pretty good for what I've got these days. It ain't too bad but that pro gear was the stuff so the glassware and wall hangings will be safe. Eventually though, I'll get the place set up so I can zip the lid off the turntable case at the drop of a hat and 'put the needle on record' like old times. It won't be the pounding of the frat party days but it'll do. The neighbors are going to hate me.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Enough Already
Now it's back on the trainer and back off the feed bag. The scales in the bathroom scolded me yesterday and the ones at the clinic where I had my physical only confirmed the bad news. I've become significantly more massive since I went on the Enola job a few months ago. The hours are different on this run and the mileage considerably longer and as a result, I've pretty much stopped working out. Comfort food and I have also obviously become much too well acquainted. Now comes the payback. I was really slamming the weights and 'mill at the crew hotel up in Saratoga but this trip is quite a different ball game so I've fallen by the wayside more than I care to think about. Besides, we tend to get out of there as soon as we're legally rested which means sleep fast and saddle up again without much extra time to fool around. Then there was the holidays...
I tried to keep up the pace for a while on the new job but the gym in the hotel where we stay is pretty sparse and the treadmill has a deck that's harder than sidewalk so it hurts my knees to run on it. There's also a communal 'fridge and microwave in the exercise room with the resultant continuous foot traffic in and out. It sort of breaks up any attempt at concentration and makes your workout kind of like running laps in the lobby of a Burger King. You're trying to be good when some guy strolls in and nukes two dozen wings and half a pizza then pauses to watch Oprah on the big screen while he gnaws it all down to bones and wax paper. In the meantime another yahoo ambles over and chats with Mr. Sausage and Pepperoni about what's good at the nearby sub shop while his leftover apple pie from McD's warms up. Picture yourself in Planet Fitness if they moved it to the food court. To say I had a hard time staying on-task is putting it mildly.
As I was running with this sideshow going on, I got thinking of the idiot who wound up in the bed next to me when I was in the hospital last year...now that's another story: I've probably told this one before...or not...
I was on a zero-food restricted diet for over a week prior to surgery which in and of itself isn't all that bad once you get over the hungries at the beginning. The bad news came when in the midst of not eating anything that couldn't go in the tube in my arm, they imported some sort of Hatfield/McCoy type with a broken hip and an appetite the size of Ohio to be my roommate. This skinny guy with a traction rig couldn't get out of bed but he certainly could and did eat everything that didn't eat him first. He must have had the metabolism of a nuclear reactor to demolish the food he did, lay still for months and still not weigh more than 160 including all the rods and screws holding his lower extremities together. It was an awesome thing to behold. He destroyed the hospital menu first then sent two of his kin out for more vittles. They passed the end of my bed on the return trip with about four bags each full of delicacies from every fast-food joint in a six block radius. I'm not much on greasy burgers and deep-fried anything in the best of times but when you haven't had a morsel in days, everything smells good. I was in agony trying to block out the sound of lip-smacking and trough-wallowing, not to mention the scent of eau-de-french-fry that came through the privacy curtain. They repeated the ceremony about five times in the first day alone. I was convinced that if I heard one more chorus of, "Did you try the cheese fries honey?" or "How about some more nuggets Sweetie?", my ears would bleed. I could cheerfully have murdered them all if I had had a way to get loose from the IV. I figured I could plead insanity or self-defense and no court in the land would convict me.
Worse yet was the flip side to all that chowing down. After the menagerie trotted off in the evening to tend the still or whatever, the bottomless pit in splints started whining for the nurse to bring him a bedpan. By the time that stunning performance came to a noisy and pathetic close, the poor floor nurse was gagging and I was close to strangling myself with my own heart monitor. I vainly hoped my ailing gall bladder would simply explode so I could die quickly and never, ever again experience such olfactory misery. I wished repeatedly for firearms to use on either him or me. At the time, I didn't care which. Requests to ship the bum back where he came from got nowhere for another full day until Chris reached the end of her rope and lost her cool with the head nurse in a very vocal fashion. This is one of her specialities when the going gets tough and it's usually spectacular if not always effective. This time it was both. In pretty short order (no pun intended) after the blast, I was suddenly moved out to a suddenly available room down the hall to spend the duration with another patient in straits similar to my own ie., no food unless it would fit through a needle. I left the reddest of the rednecks to consume himself to death and digest in peace for all I cared.
The rest is another tale.
But I digress...it's a good story (it even happens to be true) but only a sideline to where I started and convincing evidence that I have the mental focus of a squirrel these days.
Where was I...oh yeah; As I was saying before I so completely distracted myself...
I usually feel better when I'm working out a lot so I'm endeavouring to get motivated again. And since spring will undoubtedly show up and the salt will eventually wash away...I'd like to not start from scratch when I hit the road with the Trek this year. Getting passed by 6th graders on big-box mountain bikes and the local beer can guys towing shopping carts is pretty humbling so to avoid any such embarrassments, it's time to get back at it. I've got a Tour to get ready for.
I better stock up on tires and hope I have only one gall bladder to lose.
I tried to keep up the pace for a while on the new job but the gym in the hotel where we stay is pretty sparse and the treadmill has a deck that's harder than sidewalk so it hurts my knees to run on it. There's also a communal 'fridge and microwave in the exercise room with the resultant continuous foot traffic in and out. It sort of breaks up any attempt at concentration and makes your workout kind of like running laps in the lobby of a Burger King. You're trying to be good when some guy strolls in and nukes two dozen wings and half a pizza then pauses to watch Oprah on the big screen while he gnaws it all down to bones and wax paper. In the meantime another yahoo ambles over and chats with Mr. Sausage and Pepperoni about what's good at the nearby sub shop while his leftover apple pie from McD's warms up. Picture yourself in Planet Fitness if they moved it to the food court. To say I had a hard time staying on-task is putting it mildly.
As I was running with this sideshow going on, I got thinking of the idiot who wound up in the bed next to me when I was in the hospital last year...now that's another story: I've probably told this one before...or not...
I was on a zero-food restricted diet for over a week prior to surgery which in and of itself isn't all that bad once you get over the hungries at the beginning. The bad news came when in the midst of not eating anything that couldn't go in the tube in my arm, they imported some sort of Hatfield/McCoy type with a broken hip and an appetite the size of Ohio to be my roommate. This skinny guy with a traction rig couldn't get out of bed but he certainly could and did eat everything that didn't eat him first. He must have had the metabolism of a nuclear reactor to demolish the food he did, lay still for months and still not weigh more than 160 including all the rods and screws holding his lower extremities together. It was an awesome thing to behold. He destroyed the hospital menu first then sent two of his kin out for more vittles. They passed the end of my bed on the return trip with about four bags each full of delicacies from every fast-food joint in a six block radius. I'm not much on greasy burgers and deep-fried anything in the best of times but when you haven't had a morsel in days, everything smells good. I was in agony trying to block out the sound of lip-smacking and trough-wallowing, not to mention the scent of eau-de-french-fry that came through the privacy curtain. They repeated the ceremony about five times in the first day alone. I was convinced that if I heard one more chorus of, "Did you try the cheese fries honey?" or "How about some more nuggets Sweetie?", my ears would bleed. I could cheerfully have murdered them all if I had had a way to get loose from the IV. I figured I could plead insanity or self-defense and no court in the land would convict me.
Worse yet was the flip side to all that chowing down. After the menagerie trotted off in the evening to tend the still or whatever, the bottomless pit in splints started whining for the nurse to bring him a bedpan. By the time that stunning performance came to a noisy and pathetic close, the poor floor nurse was gagging and I was close to strangling myself with my own heart monitor. I vainly hoped my ailing gall bladder would simply explode so I could die quickly and never, ever again experience such olfactory misery. I wished repeatedly for firearms to use on either him or me. At the time, I didn't care which. Requests to ship the bum back where he came from got nowhere for another full day until Chris reached the end of her rope and lost her cool with the head nurse in a very vocal fashion. This is one of her specialities when the going gets tough and it's usually spectacular if not always effective. This time it was both. In pretty short order (no pun intended) after the blast, I was suddenly moved out to a suddenly available room down the hall to spend the duration with another patient in straits similar to my own ie., no food unless it would fit through a needle. I left the reddest of the rednecks to consume himself to death and digest in peace for all I cared.
The rest is another tale.
But I digress...it's a good story (it even happens to be true) but only a sideline to where I started and convincing evidence that I have the mental focus of a squirrel these days.
Where was I...oh yeah; As I was saying before I so completely distracted myself...
I usually feel better when I'm working out a lot so I'm endeavouring to get motivated again. And since spring will undoubtedly show up and the salt will eventually wash away...I'd like to not start from scratch when I hit the road with the Trek this year. Getting passed by 6th graders on big-box mountain bikes and the local beer can guys towing shopping carts is pretty humbling so to avoid any such embarrassments, it's time to get back at it. I've got a Tour to get ready for.
I better stock up on tires and hope I have only one gall bladder to lose.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Looking Out My Back Door
2011 drifted in last night and I didn't bother to stay up to meet it. I hardly ever do...I usually flip the calendar and head for the sheets pretty early. Must be getting old...oh wait a minute...I am old. At least that's what the kids tell me. I prefer to think of it as aged like a good wine or maybe just getting old but the fact is, New Years reminds me of passing days and so I have a tough time being happy about it. It may be socially unacceptable to feel that way but the fact is, it's just a plain old hard time of year for me.
About the only good I can find in it is that it's the end of the holiday season and as such, hopefully things will return to semi-normal. Or at least as close to normal as it ever gets around here.
I've said before that the whole mess from about Halloween (it used to be Thanksgiving but the retailers decided we needed a longer season to shop) straight through to New Years is pretty depressing to me. The days are too short and the nights are too long, people get strange, there's a weird expectation that all the world suddenly becomes wonderful because it's December and you're supposed to be happy dammit. The whole thing wears me out but at least it's over for another year. I wish it wasn't that way sometimes but there it is...
I did get up early today on 1/1/11 for some reason. Chris was still sacked and both kids spent the night at friends houses so it was just me and the four-leggers. It was pitch dark off the porch but I threw the pooches out anyway and nuked some of yesterdays coffee while they made the rounds of the back yard. I like getting up and around in the zero-dark-thirty hour unless I've been out working all night and see it from the other side. It's usually peaceful and watching the light creep in from the east clears my head for the day.
It actually was pretty warm out there this morning considering it's now January so the dogs weren't in a big rush to get back to the door and my toes didn't freeze padding across the deck to unhook them from their run. A quick poke at the fire in the basement and back to my new spot at the table in the kitchen had dawn sneaking up on me out of the fog.
I've decided one of the things I like most about our new place is my current perch by the back door. All the years we lived in Old Drafty, I kind of hung out at the table in the big dining room with a streaky double-hung view toward the road. Here I can see the slope of the back lawn across the deck and watch the world get brighter over the trees on the hill. I'm farther from the highway traffic and facing due north so I don't hear much except the 'fridge kicking on and the water pipes pinging as the boiler warms up. The cat prowls around looking for something to eat or hoping to make a break for it when the screen door opens but other than that, it's mostly very still. In that kind of quiet, I can only hear myself thinking. You never know where it'll go from there.
By now the morning was in full swing and my spouse appeared with an empty frying pan and a pout on her face looking for me to make an omlette. I can do omlettes and it seemed like a good way to get the year underway. I managed to not scramble the eggs and if I got some shell in there, she was kind enough not to mention it. We eventually got moving and tore down the tree, gathered up the Christmas stuff from around the place and stuffed it all in bins to hide till next winter. It's official after that...the Holidays are done.
Now it's back to watching the computer for approaching trains and planning around the crew callers but that's what I know. It's back to the on-call grind until I have some real vacation time in April and I can turn off my cell again. I'll make it I think. And if sometimes I can stop for a while in the morning and look out the back door, I think I'll be alright.
About the only good I can find in it is that it's the end of the holiday season and as such, hopefully things will return to semi-normal. Or at least as close to normal as it ever gets around here.
I've said before that the whole mess from about Halloween (it used to be Thanksgiving but the retailers decided we needed a longer season to shop) straight through to New Years is pretty depressing to me. The days are too short and the nights are too long, people get strange, there's a weird expectation that all the world suddenly becomes wonderful because it's December and you're supposed to be happy dammit. The whole thing wears me out but at least it's over for another year. I wish it wasn't that way sometimes but there it is...
I did get up early today on 1/1/11 for some reason. Chris was still sacked and both kids spent the night at friends houses so it was just me and the four-leggers. It was pitch dark off the porch but I threw the pooches out anyway and nuked some of yesterdays coffee while they made the rounds of the back yard. I like getting up and around in the zero-dark-thirty hour unless I've been out working all night and see it from the other side. It's usually peaceful and watching the light creep in from the east clears my head for the day.
It actually was pretty warm out there this morning considering it's now January so the dogs weren't in a big rush to get back to the door and my toes didn't freeze padding across the deck to unhook them from their run. A quick poke at the fire in the basement and back to my new spot at the table in the kitchen had dawn sneaking up on me out of the fog.
By now the morning was in full swing and my spouse appeared with an empty frying pan and a pout on her face looking for me to make an omlette. I can do omlettes and it seemed like a good way to get the year underway. I managed to not scramble the eggs and if I got some shell in there, she was kind enough not to mention it. We eventually got moving and tore down the tree, gathered up the Christmas stuff from around the place and stuffed it all in bins to hide till next winter. It's official after that...the Holidays are done.
Now it's back to watching the computer for approaching trains and planning around the crew callers but that's what I know. It's back to the on-call grind until I have some real vacation time in April and I can turn off my cell again. I'll make it I think. And if sometimes I can stop for a while in the morning and look out the back door, I think I'll be alright.
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