a demanding ride, placating the goddess, and a party

 

Still life with bicycle and associated impedimenta.

Friend Bob N, whom I haven't see in months, had an idea to do a piece of the Sourlands Spectacular route this weekend (a week after the actual event). He contacted a number of the Hill Slugs, and five of us agreed and were available: besides Bob, we had Rickety G, Peter G, Laura OLPH, and yours truly. 

 We agreed on fifty miles, so Bob rejiggered the routes and came up with something. I was dismayed when I saw we were gonna pass through Zion both on the way out and on the way back, but Bob assured me that on the way back, the climb wouldn't be that bad. I was not satisfied; the guy who claimed three kinds of lies (lies, damned lies, and statistics) had obviously never heard of ride leader promises.

We left and were at the climb at Dutchtown-Zion in less than ten miles, and I'm able to report it's still a demanding climb. I'd forgotten, though, that the last chunk-of-a-mile of the subsequent descent is gravel. I gingerly dawdled through that, and at the bottom, we got to see the condition of the bridge that was washed out a year ago in storm Ida:

It may not be clear from the picture, but those arches are new construction: the mortar is clean and new; there are fresh planks on top, and the rebar shows no rust. The associated sign:

...shows work was to start over a year ago, before the storm; I'm sure the crews have had other priorities in the interim. I'm glad the bridge is getting attention, as, I'm sure, are the local residents.

On we went. A bit later, we had to turn onto Amwell Road. Now, I have a dispute with the goddess of Amwell Road; I had a bad crash on that road in 2015, and I have had a number of mechanical problems, as have riders on rides I have led. This goddess is a trickster: powerful and arbitrary, as all gods are. We had about two miles on this road. I tried to think of any other gods from whom I could ask for a favor, placating Amwell, but realized that my best hope was probably just to make obeisance to her, so I did that for the time I was on her road. After we turned off, I spent a few miles meditating on my gratitude for my good fortune in not exciting her ire. I'm not one for spiritual experiences; this was close to one.

A bit later, we turned off Sergeantsville Road onto the Easton-Trenton Turnpike. Peter swore when he realized where we were turning: this road climbs one hundred fifty feet in a little over a quarter-mile; it's reported to have an 18% average grade (I know it wasn't above 23%, because I can't keep my front wheel down on a grade of 23% or more). It wasn't the height of the Dutchtown-Zion climb... but that is spread over about four miles or more before the downhill.

We stopped at the Sergeantsville store.

On the way back, I went into a rant about friendships. We don't need to go into the source of it here, but it's become clear to me that one of the things important to maintaining health is making and maintaining friends. It's easy when you're working, or in school... but I'm an old retired guy, and there aren't places I just bump into people; I've got to make a point of being places where I can meet potential friends, and of building and nurturing those relationships. Our lives depend on it.

We returned to Bob's house, where we had a post-ride feed, and met his excellent wife, Helen.

If you get a chance to enjoy a stop there, I recommend you take it.

i'm sorry it's that complicated

 This came up in one of my feeds:

...The field that grew out of this posture argued that there was nothing simple or straightforward about the way we consume a text. It’s always a negotiation, always more complicated than anyone on the outside might assume.

The problem, then, is that some people don’t want things to be complicated. They don’t want to hear people talk about why they like things, because if they listen long enough, it will challenge neat understanding of things that are “good” and “bad” — especially when it comes to children, or teens, or women. Those groups of people aren’t often trusted to know themselves well enough to articulate why something matters. Or, when they do, we simply don’t believe them.

I'm resisting the urge here to be sarcastic about the need to listen to children, teens, and women, because, as a male white Anglo-Saxon (used to be) Protestant, people too often take me seriously when I sarcastically downplay the rights of anybody who's not white, Anglo-Saxon, and male. (I'm an out-of-the-closet atheist, so people generally know when I'm getting ironic about religious idiots [not all religious people are idiots]).

I have family members who want to get back to what they consider the good old days, when there were only two sexes, and when everybody knew their place. Well, I'm sorry the world is more complicated than you think it is. I'm sorry that what you thought was promised to you because of accidents of birth is not materializing. I'm sorry that people who once hid in the shadows, who once ate only your parents' castoffs, are now demanding rights.

The world has changed. Catch up, or be lost. If you try to hold on to the corpse of the dead past, you will be defiled.

I don't know the original citation of the quote; I got it here.

not to raise the attention of the trickster goddess

 Found it! A 30-mile (as near as makes no difference) route from home that is reasonably safe and interesting, that passes toilets, and that doesn't risk the attention of the trickster goddess of Amwell Road.

Trickster goddess? Yes. Forget what you learned in church, and forget that misbegotten Loki of the Marvel comic universe. Gods are powerful and arbitrary, and tricksters are the most arbitrary of all. On one occasion she will be sating you with willing partners followed by pizza and ice cream, and on the next she's gauging reactions when she replaces your digestive tract with a turkey vulture. (She has no particular interest in you; she's just as interested in the turkey vulture's comments.)

So today's was a good ride with no divine arbitrariness. Once again, I set the GPS so I couldn't see time or speed, and went at the pace that felt right. I was almost a mile-per-hour faster than yesterday (likely due to the early start; early AM is my time of day), but I was still passed a few times by the younger-and-faster, so I've got some humility to get right with. OTOH, I met a number of the Major Taylors coming the other way on Canal Road; I thought I recognized Ralph S-J's voice as he called out, and I thought I saw Vern H, and I'm SURE I saw and heard Albert B. So that was pleasant.

And I came up on The Excellent Wife (TEW) doing her ride for the day. We did a little bike-y flirtatiousness, and then I came home. Chores later.

I hope to see some of youse on tomorrow's ride out of Claremont. The hills aren't long or high, but they're nasty.

off facebook

 I'm done with Facebook. See this post.

I can't justify using the platform, just for the sake of the internet traffic. More info at the post.

saints and martyrs

As we have a martyr in Heather Heyer, we appear to have a saint in Samantha Francine. At a Black Lives Matter demonstration, she stared down a man, much larger than she, who showed up to rage and to foment disorder.

I'm sure that a check into the backgrounds of either of the women I named will find human and fallible times. The Catholic Church demands that its saints be paragons of virtue throughout their lives (or at least after their conversions). But this is stupid. It belies the humanity and forgiveness that the Church says that it teaches, and it treats its members as if they are children.

In our age, I demand a new definition of saint: one who displays saintly behavior in the critical moment. We don't need impossible standards. We don't need heroes. We need real people doing the right thing at the necessary time.

After that, we can all go back to our real lives.

less facebook, i think

I think Facebook is making me less tolerant of people with whom I disagree. I think it stokes my outrage and diminishes my toleration. I'm afraid that, over time, there will be fewer and fewer people with whom I speak (and to whom I listen). I'm afraid of developing resentments against people who are friends, or trying to be friends.

I'm afraid I will become less civil, less polite. I don't want to rebuff well-intended advances from people trying to make them in good faith.

The echo chamber of people who already agree with me should not be the only place I put my ears.

I'm not cutting it off, but I'm not staying long, either.

not impressed

Saw a number of these today:

I'm not impressed. I'd be more impressed if there were a sign next to any one decrying the racists in Charlottesville.

What it says to me is: If you're not a friend or a family member, if you're not a believer, if you're not a geographical neighbor*, if you're a citizen of another country... then the sign poster has nothing for you.

*As for "who is a neighbor", Jesus had something to say about that.

thanks for the warning, pastor niemöller

Been seeing this around the interwebs:

I thought it was apropos.

hope for the world

I found this on Imgur:

Warms my heart.

thoughtful thanksgiving ride

It was warm enough, and mostly dry enough, for me to get in a moderate 20 miles this morning.

On the way I had some thoughts about family. I have some millennial nephews who supported Trump (or at least, did not support Hillary; the two amount to the same thing, although the purist young folks may not believe so), and I've been panicked about what to say to them today if the issue of politics comes up. I don't want to just write them off (well, I do, but The Excellent Wife (TEW) would not be happy if I did). I've been practicing evasive responses to the issues that might come up, but on the ride I came up with this:

"Please, let's not talk about this today. I'm still too raw. There may be a day when we can discuss these things and wind up with me not hating you, but today is not that day, and hating you is not an outcome I want. Please, let's talk about anything else, but not this, not today."

I thought about the Alt-Right movement, and the arrogance of the most powerful class of people in the world complaining that their issues are not heard. I thought about the things for which I'm grateful: TEW, money in the bank, being employed (and having coworkers with whom I get along), friends, bikes.

I went up Coppermine today (I didn't think I had it in me, but I did, of course), and, as I was gathering speed to come down Old Georgetown at a whippy pace, I saw a loose dog in the road: one of the homeowners had allowed the dog to run free. I avoided eye contact and slowed; the dog barked and tracked my heels, as the owner called him back. Everything was fine, but I didn't get up to my usual speed on the Old Georgetown downhill. Hrmph. There are worse problems.

A light rain started about 2-3 miles from home (it's stopped since); just enough so I get credit for a Rule 9 ride.

And, of course, I'll be out later eating all kinds of good things, and putting on more winter weight. Life is sometimes good. Here's hoping yours is, too.

the great night

My Polish relatives refer to Easter as Wielkanoc, which translates to "The Great Night". It's a name that's much more evocative to my Christian wife than the pagan-translated "Easter".

She's taught me to greet the relatives with "Chrystus Pan zmartwychwstał!" (To which the response is, of course, "Prawdziwie zmartwychwstał!" After all these years, I've managed to get my Anglo tongue around the pronunciation to my wife's satisfaction. My mother-in-law, of course, is delighted that I even make the effort.)

The excellent wife has hope for life after death, but also thinks that part of the Easter message is about second chances. I can get behind that.

We're just back from visiting, and have a fridge full of eggs (some blessed) and ham products. It's gonna be a fat week.

Hope you're well, and you got through Easter OK. It's not ALL about chocolate bunnies, you know.

more war on christmas

I love this stuff. It's even more pleasing to me that it might upset somebody. Is your god so weak that he can't abide a little mockery?

From today's Oddman, of course.

We had the work holiday lunch yesterday, and the scale scolded me today. Back to the eating discipline, I guess. Hope you're doing better than I.

war on christmas

Forget Starbucks. THIS is a sign that there's a war on Christmas.

Found it on Imgur.

letting the terrorists win

After September 11, 2001, I let the terrorists win. I was suspicious of Muslims, and angry at the whole world. I was not yet an atheist, but that was one of he events that led to my atheism.

Since the Paris attacks, though, I've thought more about what my reaction must be.

First, I'm hearing from Muslims that the attacks are not Islam (and I didn't have to go search out articles that say so). I don't remember hearing that fourteen years ago.

Second, I understand that what the terrorists want is to precipitate a war between Islam and the west. So hating Muslims plays right into the hands of terrorists.

Third, I know that too many people died in the attacks. But how many people died of complications of smoking in Paris, that day? (This IS France, after all.) How many of auto accidents? How many the next day? And the day after? And on every day since? The number of people dying of terrorism is minuscule. We pay attention to it because it's news. But it's news because it's rare.

Fourth, as far as I can, I'm going to go on with my life ignoring terrorists. There are people whose job it is to deal with them. I'm going to let them do that. If I pay any more attention than that, the terrorists win.

That said, though, I want to say something about why I don't want to see the death penalty for terrorism. There are two reasons for this. The first is that terrorists are nihilists, and they see death as a glorious end. Their cohorts will see them as martyrs. We should not give them that glory.

The second is that I do not believe that death is the ultimate penalty. It is too quick. I'm sure it would be much more painful to have to endure a long, isolated imprisonment, with monotony as your only companion. To die, decades later, forgotten by the world, and have your body and your effects thrown in the trash.

I'm not against the death penalty because it's cruel. I'm against it because it's not cruel enough.

Until that day, I'm going to live my life, being careful of the things that are actually likely to kill me, like traffic and overeating.

i hope he really said it

Bill Nye continues to be a hero.

From today's Oddman.

jealous god

Exodus 20:5 "... for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me."

Girl barred from San Diego Christian school due to lesbian parents 

A kid in kindergarten. Is that what he meant?

happy anniversary

The Excellent Wife (TEW) keeps telling me that we've been together for 21 years, which I know can't be true, because, while I'm certainly old enough to have that happen, I have no ability to be in a stable relationship that long. In rebuttal, she points out that we first started dating just after we got out of grad school in 1994 (an allegation I have been unable to rebut) and that there is a marriage certificate on the dining room wall from 1997*. Which there is, but just as I can't have been steady with her for 21 years, I can't have been married for eighteen; I have too much egotism and emotional instability.

*Quakers do weddings better than anyone else I've ever heard of; they sit in silence until someone is moved to speak, and, at weddings, many people are often moved, to speak about joys, hopes, memories, sillinesses, and so on. Bring handkerchiefs. At the end, all present sign the wedding certificate, indicating that the whole community will be around to help support the marriage. I've said often that the wedding certificate is a far better reminder of the marriage than the ring: if this thing falls apart, I'm going to have to deal with all those people who signed the certificate. It's easier just to stay married.

IN any case, to celebrate this undoubtedly fraudulent occasion of the 21st anniversary of our first date, we bought tickets some time ago (prior to the recent unpleasantness) to the American Shakespeare Center productions for Saturday, July 25. The American Shakespeare Center is located in Staunton, Virginia; they've built a reproduction of the Blackfriars "theater", an indoor space where some of the plays were produced.

Each year, they hire a repertory company to act a selection of the plays (they usually choose a theme, and sometimes throw in a play by someone else that fits the theme). We've gone a number of times, and the productions are always at least good, sometimes great. The funny comedies are actually funny (not all of Shakespeare's comedies are comedies in the modern sense), and we've noticed that they make a point of including scenes often cut from other productions.

We got up to get going at some stupid hour on Saturday morning to do the six-plus-hour-drive to Staunton, which was uneventful (I didn't even need to make up another verse to my song), and got to town early enough to find the motel, and then get to the theater. We saw The Winter's Tale:

... a story of jealousy and false accusation, which was particularly touching to me in view of my recent difficulties (there are some speeches I need to go look up again). It's a "comedy" in that it ends with marriages and reconciliations, and not with deaths, but don't bring the frat boys.

After that matinee, we potted around Staunton for a bit, and had dinner and excellent gelato (TEW loved the logo of this place, and thought some of our cow-friendly friends would like it, too),and then returned to the theater for A Midsummer Night's Dream:

This is a wonderfully silly play, and they did it masterfully. I was taken especially, though, by the actor who played Oberon, king of the fairies, who projected the dignity, and power and magic of the part.

And then to the hotel. The next day we got up for breakfast, and staying at the hotel were some of the members of the Tar Heel Mini Club, a group of Mini Cooper owners, who were doing an ice-cream run up to Michigan, where they hoped to join owners from all over the country, to set a record for the most cars involved in some event or other. (An ice-cream run, I was told by one of the members, means you're supposed to stop at least twice a day for ice cream. Now THERE's a crisis.)

And then we drove home, on which trip I STILL didn't make up another verse to my song. Maybe the problem is I just hate driving in New Jersey.

ride2freedom

My sister-in-law, Elizabeth, forwarded me this link about a coast-to-coast ride in support of Falun Gong in China. From the site:

Practitioners of Falun Gong, a peaceful spiritual discipline, are subject to horrific cruelties under the Chinese Communist Party, whose large-scale persecution campaign has caused the deaths of countless innocent Chinese citizens. The children of Falun Gong practitioners suffer especially great atrocities. Defenseless against the government’s severe persecution, many lose their homes, their education, their parents, and often their own lives.

It appears that sixteen young cyclists are doing the ride. The Ride to Freedom is asking for financial support, and posting of "selfies" with their hashtags:

Show your support by sharing your selfie on your favorite social media with including the following "hashtag":

#RIDE2FREEDOM

 More info on the site.

charlie hebdo next wednesday

After the shootings at Charlie Hebdo, I decided to look at their website to see what they say (and to see if I want to subscribe in support).

It may have changed by the time you see it, but as I write this, there's a graphic of a fist holding a pencil, and the following text (in French; these are my translations);

• Because the pencil will always be above barbarity...
• Because liberty is a universal right...
• Because you support us...
• We, Charlie, will publish our magazine next Wednesday.

And, in a box:

Charlie Hebdo Magazine of Survivors Wednesday, 1/14

---

I'm moved to tears.

two from today's oddman

I love these pics of Muslim women with western ways:

... and here is a worse Santa than any Laura OLPH has ever found:

Both from today's Oddman.