Creatures of the night

I walked through downtown Los Gatos after dinner, 'round 8.45pm or so, to burn a little energy after pretty much sitting in front of a computer all day (...which I'm still doing, hmmm...). Yup, LG on a Monday evening in February.

The streets are pretty empty, no need to wait for a crosswalk signal. A bit of a chill wind to make me appreciate that wearing a jacket was a good idea. The Victorian and Craftsman houses on University are dark, their porch lights off, dim light showing in the front windows from families tucked away in the back rooms and bedrooms. The occasional car swishes by, Audis and BMWs and SUVs and one customized rice rocket for variety.

Walking past Carry Nations, there's a fellow out front with a buzz cut talking on a cell phone about coming home and finding the house trashed. It's only when I'm a couple steps past him--downwind--that I smell the alcohol from his breath.

Passing the row of restaurants, a look in the window reveals the repeated scenes of counting out the till, setting chairs on tables, wiping down one last time before going home.

The bike store's window display is disappointing: a Bianchi 928, nothing to write home about.

Last stop before heading home is Safeway. It takes no time at all to get what I need, but I can't help raising an eyebrow at the pair of fellows shopping in their pyjama bottoms--flannel, oversized, plaid. They're in front of me at the only checkout open, putting a few dozen cans on the belt while I stand there with a single, simple bag of frozen veg.

The time it takes the checker to start scanning the canned goods gives the young woman time to pipe up and mention her list of athletic accomplishments that should make it no surprise that she can lift a flat of water bottles onto her shoulder. Within a minute I'm being instructed that she was on the Jessie Owens track team in LA and won several medals. Frankly, I'm relieved when another checkstand opens and I can conveniently gallantly let her go first in the next line over.

It occurs to me that it's been a long time since I'd run into the Hill People, those who inhabit the little-known and less-visited corners of the Santa Cruz Mountains. I could understand the attraction of coming into town late on a weekday evening: little traffic, both in terms of cars and people in the aisles. Leaving the store, my athletic friend and her companion seem to be wrangling a teamster-worthy ratcheting tie-down in the bed of a pickup, presumably to make sure that their 24 bottles of water don't fly out the back.

And there I am, proud new owner of a bag of frozen veg, walking around Los Gatos at 9.45pm on a Monday night in black pants and white running shoes.

Keeping it together

Last week was my introduction to the wonders of commuting on 880 from Los Gatos to Berkeley. It's less than ideal. Somehow, regardless of whether I left at 8am or 8.45am, I seemed to arrive at 9.45am.

On the things-are-looking-brighter side, I did find a loft apartment to rent near Broadway and 51st on the northern edge of Oakland. I can't tell if it's in "Rockridge", "Piedmont", or "Temescal", but those are all good places to be, apparently. Hopefully I haven't fallen through the cracks in between them all. Safeway is a block away for quick grocery trips, it's a short walk to BART, by total fluke there's a 50m pool only 4 blocks away, and there's a bike shop 4-5 blocks away in the other direction. It's 4-5 miles from work, and it'll be interesting to figure out what a good bike commute route is, if it exists. I'm thinking of totally converting my old MTB to a full-time commuter: anyone got a rigid fork with fender braze-ons?

For now, though, I haven't moved anywhere, and the 2+ hours a day of driving combined with essentially learning a completely new field to the point of being conversant at a PhD level has left my brain feeling mushy. I bought "Great Expectations" as an audiobook to listen to in the car, but my attention span is noticeably diminished in the evenings, so it may take a while to get through. The slimy weather this weekend hasn't helped me to feel energized, either. Yesterday I was pretty much a shut-in slug. Today I focused on the domestic things--cleaning, groceries, laundry--as well as getting a run in, which left my mind a bit more at ease.

Legs are burning

It's been a long, lazy winter, and doubling up vacations (Christmas in December plus passport renewal layover in February) has left my legs a little wobbly. Even keeping to the flats on a flat, aerobic ride up to the Stanford campus today, there's a little something-something in the thighs afterwards...not to mention hunger!

Checked out the setup for the Tour of California prologue on the way through. For now it's mostly chaos of tents and trailers without any actual team identification visible, though the fencing around the Oval was being put in place. My friends at Front of the Pack will be in the expo tomorrow and won't be bringing in the gear 'til early tomorrow morning. Only saw a few jerseys from the Kelly Benefit Stategies/Medifast team, cruising around the Oval on their TT bikes, though rumor has it there were pros aplenty on Old La Honda and Kings Mountain today.

Brief observations/recommendations for ToC tomorrow:
--If you're coming to watch the prologue, carpool or take the train. Stanford has parking to accomodate 30,000 football fans, but it gets a bit ugly come time to go home.
--Even better, park farther away and ride in to watch. There is bike valet service at Lasuen St and Museum Way, Stanford, CA . Don't know the cost, and there may be other locations, but it's probably nicer than hauling your bike beside you all the time while watching.

There and back again - once

I gritted my teeth this morning and set off for the first of what be a few dozen commutes up I-880 this morning.

Departure time: 8.22 am.
Distance: 55 miles
Time to destination: 1h15m

Hm. Not bad. After a few hours at work figuring out things like health insurance and where the washroom is, I set out in the evening to fight my way back home through traffic.

Departure time: 6.52 pm
Distance: 55 miles
Time to destination: 1h00m

Odd how a person can feel elated that their commute was only 1 hour long.

A trip to the city

Took a break from warming the cat today to go into Vancouver, with the ultimate goal being a dinner gathering for cheap, good Chinese noodles. I wandered down Broadway through gently falling rain during the afternoon, including a visit to Campione Cycles, center of all things Italian cycling in western Canada. My road bike has a steel Cramerotti frame, which I purchased with a bike fit from Giuseppe Cramerotti himself. I've checked the website over the past few years and noticed that there didn't seem to be anything newer than 2005, but happily that reflects the state of the website (a low priority), not the state of the business. Campione and Cramerotti continue on today with a range of steel, aluminum, titanium, and carbon frames for road, track, and time trial.

What I especially like about Campione is that when you walk in, you don't see bikes: you see frames. Behind the frames are glass cases holding Campagnolo gruppos like they were museum pieces. On the wall are rims of all kinds in all colors--not wheels, just the rims. When you buy a bicycle from these folks, everything is built up from scratch.

Monday is a slow retail day, so the fellow manning the front desk had a lot of time to talk (Giuseppe was in the back talking animatedly in Italian with a rep from Deddiaicai). Turns out Tio has been living in Canada for 25 years since moving here from the Netherlands in his mid-20s following an early career as a top Dutch time trialist. He's a bit disappointed with the cycling culture locally and doesn't believe that it can produce any top riders, but he also has been volunteering to build a new indoor velodrome in nearby Burnaby (only 200m--that's a lot of corners). Tio may not race anymore, but he certainly hasn't lost his passion for the sport.

I'm not sure the conversation would have ended if a fellow riding a fixie hadn't walked in asking for help with his flat tire (?--dude, if you're gonna ride a fixie, learn how to fix it). Tio was helpful--once the fellow walked his straight-from-the-wet-road bike off of the Berber carpet surrounding the Campagnolo clothing racks and around on the lino work surface. A wink from Tio, and I was back on my wander.

Campione: snooty? At some level, yes. A reminder that cycling is a beautiful sport and that bicycles are beatiful machines? That too.

Nothin' but a pillow

Still in Canada, now being hosted by DP and DT in a lovely (if rainy) rural bit of the Fraser Valley after a few days at the parents'. The local menagerie consists of three dogs, two cats, and one horse. The cats have figured out that I am (a) attentive and (b) warm, and I may be able to knit a sweater with their collected sheddings by the time I leave. Thankfully the horse has shown no signs of wanting to sit in my lap...yet.

There's a lot of interest in Canada in the American presidential race, particularly in Barack Obama, despite Canadians' inability to vote, or make campaign contributions, or otherwise participate. While partially explicable by Canadians' frustration with the GWB presidency, it probably owes something to Canada's terribly uninspiring politics: nobody much seems to like the current prime minister, but nobody has sprung up as an appealing alternative. And so, the minority government limps on...

Foreign foods

I'm sitting in my friend's attic apartment here in Vancouver and it's beautiful and sunny outside. I'd show you, but this computer running XP seems incapable of communicating with my digital camera (in contrast with my Mac, which in such predictable constrast really has its shit together--thank you, Steve Jobs). So, some purely verbal bitching about why can't I get these foods in California?

Cereals: Shreddies and Just Right. Shreddies are an absolute Canadian classic. Most people of a certain vintage will even remember Freddie and Eddie, the Shreddies mascots. I even appreciate the billboard at the end of the street advertising new "Diamond Shreddies". And Just Right is just about the best bowl of flakes that money can buy.

Cookies: Dare Digestive Biscuits. Yes, there is a market in the world for a not-so-sickly-sweet cookie, with only 7g of sugar per 36g serving. Those of us with sugar-hyper issues appreciate something we can eat for dessert after dinner without it making us sleepless. Not to mention that the taste is just downright wholesome goodness.

Juice: Five Alive. Of any kind. OK, it's a lot like Sunny Delight as a citrus blend, but it's better. Way better.

OK, I'd best get some sunshine now--who knows how long it will last!