Mike Hahn: Mud, Sweat, and Beers

Dear blog...

2011-02-02T14:58:00.000-08:00

I've been neglecting you. I know this. It's not your fault... you've been a good blog. We've had lots of fun along the way, finding our voice together. Here's the thing... I'm moving on. There's a project I really want to get off the ground, and any cohesive, informative, and possibly entertaining writing I've got in me should be devoted to that.

And luckily, for my whims, I found this thing called Tumblr which demands hardly any originality or effort! I'll come back here and revisit our good times, blog. If you're ever in Tumblr's neighborhod, look me up. http://wheelsdivergent.tumblr.com/

See ya 'round.
~mike

The wagon and getting back on...

2010-07-21T21:27:00.000-07:00

I need your help. I've unexpectedly fallen off the training wagon. Where just a few months ago, ticking off 40+ mile weeks was the norm, I now struggle to find the time (or motivation) to break 20. Excuses are mounting, alongside the zeroes in my training log. Victoria is fast approaching, and this is not the stuff of which PR's are made. How do you get yourself back on track when there seem to be so many reasons to not run?

Bruce Lee had Fists of Fury...

2010-06-25T14:04:00.000-07:00

Chuck Norris has the Roundhouse of Reckoning. This little lady (click it) has The Purple Hairbrush of Extreme Displeasure. Who would win in a bar fight? Mud, Sweat, & Beers asks the tough questions.

A new project that is about me.

2010-05-25T18:10:00.000-07:00

I have decided to write an e-book. Most everyone is doing it these days, and it seems to be a venture that is both profitable and enjoyable. They always say, "write about what you know" and "find a niche" and all that, so this book will be about me and the intervals I ran at lunch today.

There is a growing trend, in which I have dabbled, to share the minutiae of one's training via social networks. Today, when I "tweeted" my "peeps" about the pending workout, the response was phenomenal! It was then that I decided to take this shit to the next level. E-book.

Here are some notes I jotted down after the run. Now, this is just rough. Keep in mind that the finished e-book will fill in the gaps, be much more polished, and will be well worth the $5.00 or whatever I decide to charge.

Potential Titles:
- "All About My Intervals Today" (really like this one)
- "Feel Bad About Your Training By Reading About How Awesome Mine Is"

Chapter One: Getting Pumped
- Tweeting my peeps
- Gathering up my shit and getting changed
- Oh snap! I forgot my shoes and have to walk back to my office to get 'em

Chapter Two: The Warm-up
- I like to warm up slow and you should, too
- Maybe a little bit on how running in South Tacoma sucks

Chapter Three: The First Effort
- The starting of the watch
- How I pump my arms and how you should, too

Chapter Four: The First Rest
- This can basically be about how resting is nice
- Maybe a poetic bit about how you notice birds chirping when you rest

I'm not really sure how to make the other four intervals sound different from the first one, because they weren't different at all. But I will work on that for the final version.

Chapter whatever: Bringin' it Home
- How I try to not stink up the whole office after a run
- Eating a sandwich

I dunno. Like I said, it's rough. Let me know in the comments what feedback you have and maybe, like, how much you'd be willing to pay for this crap. Thanks! I love my readers!

Laying out the kit...

2010-05-01T16:49:00.000-07:00

Brooks Racer ST-4 shoes, broken-in just enough to be comfortable, not enough to risk getting them dirty. Brooks ID singlet, emblazoned with makeshift Tacoma Runners patch. Brooks Sherpa shorts, appropriately named for the epic journey ahead.

It's all about the kit, the one thing I can control about tomorrow's Tacoma City Marathon. Everything else is unknown. Did I train hard enough? Will I be able to get a decent night's sleep? Will it rain? Will I have to stop and poop at mile 13? Is this dull pain in my knee going to explode mid-run? The days leading up to a marathon are fraught with these worries.

Which is why I'm thankful for Lisa, my biggest supporter and race-day cheerleader, sewing on the club patch. This will surely be good for a 5 second-per-mile boost. Her mere presence somewhere out there on the course, good for another 10. When it really hurts tomorrow, I will think about how she accidentally sewed this singlet to the pillow underneath... and I'll smile.

Tomorrow I will regularly check my dad's old-ass Timex Marathon to see just how far I've fallen off my ridiculously lofty goal. I'll think about the miles it's seen, the splits it has frozen in time, and the man who wore it before me. And my struggles will seem small.

In a little over 12 hours, the gun will fire. Shortly thereafter, the anxiety that's prompting me to now scrutinize every aspect of my training, my nutrition (or lack thereof), and the tiny aches in my legs will... disappear. It will be a battle in which my only allies are a pair of really clean shoes, a singlet sewn with love, and a watch that transmits the energy and wisdom of a dozen marathons before.

It's all about the kit.

How many more days like this...

2010-04-25T22:41:00.001-07:00

We've done a bunch of family hikes together, all five of us. We've had great times, bouncing up-and-down trails, laughing the carefree laughs that seem to come much easier when cell phones are turned off. As the older kids grew up, they became less interested, and we had to start dragging them along. Then they started arguing about why do we even have to go? So we stopped making them. Fine, just stay home. Then — and this has only been recently — the arguing stopped.

This morning we decided to hike again. All five of us.

The drive was filled with apprehension. Everyone, I suppose, has their own special brand. Mine is colored by a tendency toward perfectionism (go figure) and the memory of that time I hauled everyone to the tubing hill only to find it was closed due to Serengeti Desert-type snowpack. I check the pass reports now.

We arrived at the trailhead to find dozens of like-minded adventurers (and the requisite parking jamboree). Welcome to the REI-fueled, trekking pole-equipped jungle, I guess.

No matter. The moment our five pairs of boots and basketball shoes and tenny-runners hit the dirt, we were kids again. Forgive the melancholy, but I can't help wondering... how many more days like this will we have? Afternoons spent walking the same miles and turning over rocks and pausing at waterfalls and digging in wet clay.

How many more?

Hopefully many more with all five of us. And then there will be days with just three. And then two. And then someday our grandchildren will visit — maybe from far away. And they will wonder why Grandma and Grandpa look at their parents with twinkles in our eyes, remembering days like this...

♥ you, kids.

Brooks Glycerin 8: The First 300 Miles...

2010-04-13T17:53:00.001-07:00

My Uncle Steve — a hot rod builder and car salesman since my earliest memories — has always said, "There's a butt for every seat." What this means, of course, is that my ideal ride might not be yours might not be your friend's grandma's. And so it goes with running shoes... finding the right one is a matter of test drives. With that in mind, here's my (300 mile) trip around the block with the Brooks Glycerin 8.

Let it be known that my baseline for this review is a "well-loved" pair of Asics, retired with 1,100 miles on the odometer. Advantage, new shoes. Also, it's well-documented that I'm suffering from False Rockstar Syndrome after acceptance to the Brooks I.D. program. Advantage, new shoes.

Disclosures having been disclosed...

I love these kicks! Just look at 'em. Right outta the box, fresh and clean and smelling... y'know, new! First impressions were entirely visual, and this is a good looking shoe (in my opinion, much better in the black/yellow colorway than its alternate blue/white version). Plus, yellow is fast. Everyone knows that. And while the tribal tattoo-ish details might not be for everyone, they've grown on me.

I started to examine the Glycerin's build and first noticed its short tongue. Many running kicks have a big, fluffy tongue that rises well above the laces when the shoe's tied. Spoiler alert! That extra pillow flopping over your rabbit-ears isn't doing anything! The next build feature that struck me was the Glycerin's "rolled" toe. The front of the shoe seemed to turn decidedly upward and forward. I quickly grabbed my Brooks Cascadia 4's for a comparison. Yep.

Ok, let's get out on the road! The very first time I laced up, my gut impression was, wait for it... ventilation! Ahhhhhhhh. The airflow through these shoes was (and continues to be) remarkable — appreciated on warm days and essential on long runs. Next was cushioning (I think I told my wife it was like running on clouds) and stability (the platform on the Glycerins is considerably wider than my Asics', but it has never felt clunky). Next was the effect of the rolled toe. Call it placebo, but I could feel myself being propelled forward.

300 miles in...

At this point, some runners are already thinking about their next pair of shoes. I say we're just getting to know each other! So, where do the Glycerins stand after daily lunch runs in the rain, weekend 20-milers... and the indignity of being stuffed into a messenger backpack alongside sweaty bike gear?

300 miles in, the Glycerins appear no worse for the wear. Save for some expected tread loss and residual cow poop (thanks, Montana), the shoes are as-new. No stitching has loosened, nothing has come unglued. The forward roll is a booster on long runs, and even seems to have helped "train" those biomechanics when I switch to racing flats. And that low tongue? I'm happy to report that there's has been no pinching or other discomfort. In fact, I've found it easier to dial-in lace tightness without the extra fluff. Wherever I set the knot, there it stays.

I've traveled with these shoes twice. In Montana, we kicked through 10 miles of icy dirt road (and splashed home through mud after the morning thaw). Traction was never an issue. In Reno, we explored 50 miles of unknown asphalt, trails, and red rock. Though the Glycerins are certainly not a trail shoe, they're definitely stable enough for short off-road jaunts.

In grand and glorious summary...

In my time with the Glycerins, I've found no gripes. They are good looking, comfortable, and confidence-inspiring on any surface. For me at least, the fit is so natural that I often forget the shoes are even there... and that's perhaps the ultimate testament. So, if you're a neutral striker looking for a stable trainer, I say put your butt in this seat for a test drive!

Have you run in the Glycerins? I'd love to hear your impressions in the comments.

Jeans by Calvin Klein...

2010-04-09T15:18:00.000-07:00

Body by Pabst. Logo by Stowe.

Folks in our running group have been asking about t-shirts for awhile, but I knew the beershoetacomadome graphic I cobbled together wouldn't cut it for a nice screen-print. So... we contacted local illustrator d'awesome, James Stowe, for help. Raising the funds ('cause the good shit costs, man) was painless. The friendlies at kick-ass bar and hot doggery Red Hot even raised their hands!

The logo looks rad. I wonder if Stowe will charge extra royalties if I get it tattoed. Depends on where, I suppose.

Thank you, everyone!
Ginger Anderson, James Duggan, Exit133, David Gale, Robert Gale, Angela Gow, Lilly Hsu, John McClimans, Douglas Pariseau, Daniel Richards, Red Hot, Jenika Hedlund Sannes, Susie Saturated, Colleen Heuiser Schmidt, John Rossetto, Alicia Wilkinson.

Bacon for you all!

Happy Birthday, Josh...

2010-04-02T09:35:00.000-07:00

Since the day you arrived in this world, 17 years ago, every moment has been the grandest kind of adventure. I remember the feeling of your tiny hands grasping my fingers as I helped you learn to walk. The sight of you turning your first pedals without training wheels. First fish caught, first time driving clutch, first broken heart. And while I may look back fondly at the years when you needed me... I also look now with great pride at the man you're becoming all on your own. And look forward, with so much hope, to all the years and all the adventures ahead.

Happy Birthday, Josh.

Forever your friend and biggest fan,
Dad

Thursday Dress Run...

2010-03-31T17:56:00.000-07:00

I love it when a plan comes together. This week, the Tacoma Runners' Thursday Beer Run will prance around T-town in dresses, spreading the kind of good cheer that can only be conveyed with activity-inappropriate clothing. The debacle is being sponsored by the Tacoma blog, Exit133, our own Grit City Self Propelled, and the Harmon Hub.

The Hub, in addition to providing a venue for 20 or so sweaty runners in questionable evening wear, has offered awards for our prize packs, plus a FREE large pizza for every seven people that show up. Wow.

That our little group continues to grow and generate excitement in the community never ceases to amaze me. And the way Tacoma residents and businesses rally around fun activities like the ones we're putting on is inspiring and energizing. Thanks to Matt at Tacoma Bike Ranch for introducing us to the folks at Harmon. And thanks to Derek at Exit133 for being the biggest t-town advocate this side of Wild Waves.

I'll post up some photos and an account of this disaster in a few days.

Just another run...

2010-03-20T08:24:00.000-07:00

Same streets, same trees, same dirt, grass, concrete, and railroad tracks. Same time of day, same routine to get ready, and the same, skip. Same, skip. Same music on your mp3 player.

When "regular" runs get to be a chore, it might be time to slow down. Slower. Slower. Stop. Bend down and touch the asphalt your feet pound every day. Lean over the railing of that bridge you always run across and see what's down there.

Yesterday I took our crappy little point-and-shoot along on my "regular" lunchtime run. I wanted to see these seven miles in a different way. Or perhaps more accurately, to be reminded of the intricacies I've come to ignore. Some of the photos were taken on the move, others while stopped. Stitched together, they tell the story of a run in the dirty, beautiful, broke-down town I love. Just another run.

(click to enlarge)

Discovering the importance of place...

2010-03-15T20:47:00.000-07:00

Hardly a day goes by that either Lisa or I don't proclaim our love for this town. Tacoma has given us room to stretch our legs, courage to try new things, and fresh perspectives on the meaning of community. It's given our kids more stability and a better shot at success — even if they don't realize it yet.

Grit City is the backdrop for our next chapter, and the prospects are exciting...

Tacoma Runners.

“I would never belong to a group that would accept someone like me as a member.” -Groucho Marx

Lisa and I solved Groucho's conundrum by starting our own club. In the Tacoma Runners, we've found kindred spirits and a weekly date night. It started with a simple post to Twitter... "Trying to gauge interest in a Tacoma running group. Laid back, beer-centric."

The first jog went down a few days later, with six like-minded beer runners. Last week we drew over 30, and organized a one-lap backwards race as part of the run. We even found some sponsors to fill prize bags with t-shirts, gift certificates, and booze (thanks Doyle's, O'Malley's, and Grit City Self Propelled). This is all-new territory for us, and we had a great time doing it. Next chapter indeed!

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=302380360090
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Grit City Self Propelled.

Recognize that name from the sponsor list above? I've hesitated to mention GCSP here, lest it fall victim to "the curse". See, we've tried to get a similar venture off the ground in the past. Twice. Both times, after a mention on this blog, the websites vanished mysteriously. So what's gonna make this one different?

Place. GCSP is starting from an honest, simple place. It's starting at home. We'll be a resource for Tacoma's cyclists, runners, walkers... everyone living (or aspiring to) an active life here. And we hope to become an advocate for those groups in the shaping of public policy and infrastructure as the city continues to grow up. Again, all new territory for us.

Twitter: http://twitter.com/gcselfpropelled
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So there you have a peek into two of our new, ongoing adventures. Our energy seems to be building... no doubt thanks to the wonderful people we're meeting, and the encouragement that comes from seeing our kids thrive in new ways. Thanks for having us, Tacoma. We hope to bring you very, very much of the awesome.

Tacoma Runners Backwards Race...

2010-03-09T22:58:00.000-08:00

This could get ugly.

Seen from the bike seat...

2010-02-19T21:40:00.000-08:00

I've never caught the bridge deck of the Murray Morgan in the raised position. Wish I would have been there when they brought 'er up. In any case, it made a perfect frame for Mount Rainier on a clear and bright Tacoma morning. Bring on the sunshine... we're ready to play outside.

Always daydreaming...

2010-02-11T00:30:00.000-08:00

This is our coffee shop. Worn wood floors, well-used tables, mismatched chairs. Vintage light fixtures, some hanging, others on tables. Fireplace or pot-bellied stove in the middle of the room. Sunken area with a big, wrap-around couch pointed at an old 1940's tv console that has been hollowed out and had a new set placed inside. Bearskin rug. That's right, I said it. The tv will show old bike races and running events... live broadcasts when they're on. The walls will be a showcase for local artists, including our kids. We'll carry a small selection of basic bike parts, nothing exotic. And we'll do free, simple repairs while you enjoy a cuppa joe. On another wall, we'll carry a couple different types of running shoes. Only stuff we wear and love ourselves. There will be a small shelf of local, bottled micro-brews for sale, and possibly some unique glassware from the breweries. Outside there will be a fire pit, and we'll project classic outdoors movies onto the wall. We'll sponsor races and rides. You'll want to hang out here. It will be a clubhouse for anyone living a life self-propelled in Grit City.

Run like a kid. And when you can, run with a kid...

2010-02-08T06:15:00.000-08:00

This is me and my dad warming up for a road race, I'm guessing sometime around '84. On mornings like this, we would spend some time jogging, stretching, pinning on numbers... trying to shake off jitters with routine. We'd start together, then Dad would run ahead, finish the race, and come back for me. We always finished together.

I'm not sure if enjoyed running for its own sake in those days, but it was important to my dad... and that was all that mattered. He was very good, eventually amassing a room full of ribbons, trophies, and wall plaques that formed a shrine to the sacrifices he will now tell you he regrets.

Dad's stare-down with cancer is causing him to scrutinize all the years spent in pursuit of transient prizes. But I never think, "If only my old man hadn't spent so much time running, maybe we could've done (fill in the blank)." No, I think instead of mornings spent on the road... and promise to give memories like those to my own kids.

Are you sharing running with someone?

Brooks ID, Tacoma Runners, and my horn...

2010-02-03T22:49:00.000-08:00

A forewarning: This is going to be one of those posts where I grab onto my horn with both hands, dig in, and toot loudly. Paints a picture, don't it? Anyway, on to the news...

Brooks Running has managed to look past my unhealthy obsession with beer and bacon, and selected me for its ID (Inspire Daily) program. I've been a fan of the local company for some time, so it's exactly like the cool kids waving me over to their lunch table in the 7th grade. Except this actually happened.

I'm a Brooks groupie for several reasons. They have a commitment to helping runners develop at every level of the sport, they produce excellent gear, and they back it up with good service. Also — and this speaks to me as a marketer — Brooks has an uncommon attention to individual customers, especially via social media. Larger companies don't even come close to feeling as personal and approachable.

I am pumped to be a part of the Brooks team and I look forward to bringing my loyal readers (hi, Lisa) more product reviews and other fun stuff. This is gonna be rad.

Also on the awesomeness front, Tacoma Runners is having its second (week) anniversary run tomorrow night. We leave from the mighty Red Hot on 6th Avenue, at 6:30pm. Check the Facebook group for more details, yo.

The club is turning out to be kind of a fun endeavor. It's a great group, and we somehow managed to get through last week's inaugural run with no injuries and nobody (as far as I know) getting 86'ed from the Parkway. Heck, examiner.com even caught wind and wrote a little story.

It'll be interesting to see where this goes. Lisa and I are thinking about races, themed runs, and other ways to grow the group and keep it fun. Alleycat race with tequila checkpoints, anyone?

Atta boy...

2010-01-25T22:55:00.000-08:00

A left turn off a fast, flat section and my bike commute immediately grinds to a near-halt. The hill. Shift down. Click. All the way down. Click, click. I lower my head and settle into a different frame of mind. I get hot and wish I could take off my jacket, but that would mean stopping and there's no way I'm stopping. And then, from somewhere on my left...

"Enjoy your ride!"

Startled back to reality I lift my head and look around. There, at the end of his driveway checking the mailbox is an old man, 80 years if not 90, waving and smiling as I pass. "Thank you, I will," is all I can muster through labored breathing. Eyes forward, keep pedaling, and then...

"Atta Boy!"

Many things have been yelled my direction while cycling. It's part and parcel of what Bike Snob calls "the indignities of commuting by bicycle" and you get used to it. But atta boy? My mind begins to fill with scenarios from the old man's past that would make him sympathetic — no, enthusiastic — about seeing two wheels roll by.

He was once a bicycle courier, battling cars and trolley tracks and cobblestone streets in 1930s Tacoma. Or maybe he was a board track racer in the waning years of the great six-days, for whom the sounds of chain and cog stir deep emotions. Then again, it's entirely possible he's just a guy who still remembers his first bike, baseball cards in the spokes, and that feeling of sweet freedom.

To the old man... thanks for making my day. I did enjoy the ride.

Doing it with strangers...

2010-01-24T19:38:00.000-08:00

If you're a regular reader (hi, Mom), you know that three of the most pervasive themes around here are running, beer, and Tacoma. I've been thinking lately about ways to combine this most righteous trinity, and recently floated the idea of a laid-back running club to my Twitter and Facebook homies. Seems there's actually some interest, so...

Join us for the inaugural run this Thursday (January 28), 5:30pm, at the Parkway Tavern! We'll do 3 miles at a "social pace" and end back at the P'way for a pint or two. If it works, we'll do it again next Thursday from a different watering hole.

I'm resisting the urge to register a domain, get shirts printed, and start looking for investors... but I am very excited about the possibilities for this club. Come on out and be a part of it!

If you have any questions, just drop 'em in the comments. Please also comment if you've got ideas about what makes a good running club, as I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.

UPDATE: Join the new Facebook group for news and info on future runs.

Navigating Cancer...

2010-01-19T06:22:00.000-08:00

When cancer enters our lives, we often speak of it as a fight. And while that analogy is a little bristly for some, it makes sense to me. Cancer is a battle, and those of us who intend to win will look for any advantage. Navigating Cancer, where a good friend of mine is Community Manager, looks to be a great tool to have in our corner.

The site provides a set of practical, empowering tools... a way for patients to organize their cancer journey along with their supporters and care teams. It also offers a strong community of support groups... facilitating discussions and the sharing of experiences, recommendations, and guidance. This free, easy-to-use site is currently in beta and will only continue to get better as people join, engage, and provide feedback. Check it out and see if it might make a difference in your fight.

Navigating Cancer

5 Steps to Running Through the Winter Doldrums...

2010-01-12T21:43:00.000-08:00

We all know how hard it can be to drop everything, change into our workout skivvies, and head out for a run. Add a little rain, wind, ice, and darkness to the mix and the chances of getting out the door become even slimmer. Wouldn't it just be easier to crack a cold one and watch some Biggest Loser? Well, sure. But then the fitness we've worked so hard to gain during the warmer months would go right out the window.

Here's how I'm staying motivated this winter, and how you can, too..

1) Set a Goal for Spring - Decide to do something big by May, and commit to it. Your goal should be concrete and measurable. "Get faster" and "lose some weight" do not count, because they leave too much wiggle room in the training plan you'll create in Step 2. My goal is the Eugene Marathon. But I won't just train to complete the race, I'll train to PR and break 3 hours. See... concrete, measurable. If you can commit to your goal financially, do it. Register for that race, reserve a hotel room, do it now. Make your goal real and impossible to ignore.

2) Create a Plan and Keep a Journal - Now that you've got a goal, it's time to work backward from that date to today. What weekly mileage will you need to be running and how can you build to it safely? Do you need to incorporate track work or cross-training? I like to plan at least one month out using a simple online spreadsheet, which also serves as my log. Check it out. Whether you do it online or on paper, a plan and a journal will map baby steps to your goal, and keep you honest.

3) Reward Yourself for Success - It's important to celebrate small victories. Didn't miss a workout all week? Crack a cold one and watch some Biggest Loser! Reached a new milestone in your weekly long run? Buy yourself some cushy new running socks! And think about how you'll reward yourself in May, too. I'll probably continue my marathon tradition of a bloody mary and a bacon cheeseburger.

4) Allow Yourself Some Missteps - The purpose of a goal, plan, and journal is not to intimidate. It's a system of checks and balances. So don't beat yourself up over a missed workout or a day when you couldn't run as far as you planned. In fact, it can be kind of liberating to write in your log, "Was supposed to do 800-meter repeats, but decided it was a good day to hang out in my pajamas, read the newspaper, and eat pizza rolls" (just don't do that too often).

5) Embrace the Season - Winter is a great time to train! The cooler weather allows us to run farther and faster without overheating. I know some folks move inside at the first sign of rain, but I say get off the treadmill, put on a jacket, and get outside. Stick out your tongue and catch snowflakes. Don't step around puddles, stomp through them. Toughen up, Sally. Embrace the winterness... run like a little kid!

Once a runnner...

2010-01-10T20:53:00.000-08:00

I have such fond memories of the Governor's Cup 5K, a race I ran every year as a youngster in my Montana hometown. This one, probably circa 1980 or '81, would have followed a predictable strategy... go like a bat outta heckfire at the gun, eventually settle into a comfortable jog, and then kick like a stubborn mule the last 200 yards into the finish chute.

Man I loved the kick. Those last steps, with a crowd imagined to be something on the order of a million, transformed this little kid into a giant.

Some things never change.

An open letter to my mistress...

2010-01-07T19:48:00.000-08:00

It's been almost a year now that we've been doing this. You'll recall it started as a low-key affair — half-hour romps at lunchtime and then we'd go our separate ways. No commitment, no expectations. "Let's not get too serious," you said. And I agreed, mostly.

But there was a part of me that knew... soon there'd be no looking back.

Co-workers started noticing that I was stepping out every day and coming back exhausted, with a curious smile on my face. I began to let some of them in on the secret — about the simple joy you and I had found together. And now I know a couple of them have found their own mistresses. And they come back from lunch with the same smile.

None of this was real, though, until I told my wife. I said it out loud one night, without even thinking. The words instantly echoed in my own head and it became cemented forever.

"I'm a runner."

Broke in Tacoma, Night 2...

2009-12-30T00:21:00.000-08:00

1) PBR
2) PBR
3) Tawdry fling with wife
4) Widmer
5) Pre-fab dinner from Omaha Steaks
6) Widmer
7) Fast Friday
8) Widmer
9) Once Upon a Wheel
10) Busch Light
11) Cut up something old and make something new...

What to do on a broke winter's night?

2009-12-28T23:58:00.000-08:00

1) Kiss wife
2) Busch Light
3) Pre-fab dinner from Omaha Steaks
4) Busch Light
5) Play with idiot dogs
4) Busch Light
5) Busch Light
6) Kiss wife
7) Busch Light
8) Break into old art supplies and make something...

Gear of the Year 2009

2009-12-16T20:05:00.000-08:00

'Tis the season of lists. Top 10 albums, best movie, car of the year, least intellectually offensive reality tv series. And the outdoors publications will have their say, too. The year's must-haves will be comprised of predictable stuff: Shock-resistant plastic, microchips, carbon fiber, and Goretex... all of it packaged with sex and slick marketing. In short, it will be the stuff after which you and I will lust, but probably never hang in our garages.

So, I propose that the "little guys" of outdoors blogging make our own lists. What is the stuff you use every day that puts a smile on your face? The stuff you can count on. The stuff that has taken on meaning over the miles.

Here's mine...

Mid-90s Bianchi Reparto Corse Cyclocross
When I saw this bicycle on ebay a couple years ago, I knew it would be mine. As a frequent craigslister, I appreciate a well-crafted listing, and this guy had nailed it. New old-stock steel frame (handbuilt in Italy by Bianchi's racing department), lots of shiny bits by Shimano, Sugino, Nitto, and other "o" companies. It was not an informed purchase, and it could have gone horribly wrong. But this bike has carried me through 3,000+ miles and a season of cyclocross without falter. I swing my leg over at least twice a day and promptly forget about the bike. That's how you know you've got a good one, by the way.

My dad's old-ass Timex Marathon
It's been about a year since I rediscovered the run, a full eight months of which was done without solid-state electronics: Heart rate monitors, gps devices, or sharks with lasers on their heads. Regular readers of this blog (hi, Mom) know that I don't tend to pin my happiness on (or trust my well-being to) things that require batteries. But shortly after my first marathon last summer, I asked my dad how I could improve. "You need to run with a watch." Pssshaw. As if. "Here," he said, pulling the tired Timex from his dresser-top box. The old man was right. I wore it on my second marathon, paid attention to my splits, and ran a 17-minute PR. Now I wear it on every run (except when I know I'll be slow). It feels just right.

NEW(!) Pearl Izumi Shine Wind Mitt
Are you picking up on the vibe here? I don't buy much new gear. And when I do, it will be thread-bare and used-up before it's retired. Trust that you will have to pry these babies off my warm, dead hands. They're mittens when you need 'em, gloves when you don't. Genius! I totally couldn't afford this purchase, so I compensate by wearing them even when it's completely unnecessary. "Seems kind of cold in here.Be right back." C'mon... you do it, too.

My shoes.
Over a thousand miles of pavement will have passed underneath these shoes when I retire them after the holidays. That's a lot of mud, sweat, and beers. I always hear about people who toss their kicks every few months or few hundred miles. To them I say, you might be missing out on the best part. The part when the shoes slip on and lace up just right... quick, without fuss, like a NASCAR pit stop. The part where your foot becomes the shoe becomes the asphalt... becomes a joyful run. Yes, they're done. Completely cooked. Coming apart at the seams and soles. And yes, I think I'll have them bronzed.

My shoes.
I was pretty sure I'd hit the big time when Brooks Running sent me a new pair of Cascadia 4 trail shoes to test. Million-dollar endorsement deals would surely not be far behind. I promptly set out to try 'em on the proving grounds of the Puyallup River dirt... and then proceeded to not run trails again all year. But I have worn these beauties as my everyday shoe, well... every day. Call me an old man, but the Cascadia's have shown me the way of the practical, comfortable shoe. Maybe next year I'll buy the 5's and see if they can actually hold a corner on loose gravel.

Beautiful Angle...

2009-12-01T19:43:00.000-08:00

Digging the work of this Tacoma poster collective, most of it done with traditional printing processes and tools. Also feeling very tiny in the knowledge that, while I'm busybusybusy manufacturing desire with emails and websites, art is being made all around me.

Beautiful Angle

Stopping... to consider Tacoma.

2009-12-01T07:43:00.000-08:00

Tacoma native Murray Morgan wrote much of the famous Seattle history narrative "Skid Road" while serving as a bridge tender here, high atop the span that would later bear his name. It's remarkable, especially if you're into objects that exude pure mechanicalness from every square inch.

Amid safety concerns, the bridge was closed to vehicle traffic in 2004... and its fate is now unclear. Much like Tacoma itself, the span seems to teeter on some unseen precipice — praise and permanence on one side, disregard and decay on the other.

There is a new Eleventh Street Bridge now, just a little farther down the waterway, and it's a real beauty... modern, artful, metropolitan. Seems the questions will soon come again: Can we move Tacoma forward without allowing its past to be erased? Is it possible to craft a new urban environment that embraces the grit and industry that built this town? Or are we already down a path that will whitewash history with short-sighted planning and "me too" construction?

Stopping... to recall the nerdiness of my youth.

2009-11-18T07:59:00.000-08:00

My bike commute takes me over this Tacoma train yard twice a day, and each time I think about the model railroad I built when I was a kid. For a period of six or seven years, I spent most of my free time in my parents' basement, creating an empire. Centerville was the name of the town. While other kids were out getting in fights, stealing candy bars, and kissing girls, I was building the Centerville Post Office from plastic, creating trestles from balsa, and raising mountain ranges from plaster. But I never had a train yard like this, and always wanted one.

Lately my youngest daughter has been asking to go to the neighborhood hobby shop. I think she likes to hear about my old railroad, and how you can make a pretty believable tree from a twig and a piece of moss. She wants me to bring my train stuff home from Montana — it's all in boxes now — and start a new empire in our basement. We'll be doing that real soon. And I think Centerville will finally be getting that yard it was missing.

Stopping... for bacon.

2009-11-17T08:35:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you should ride an unknown path to its end. Other times, you know right where to go... and you should put your head down and get there. Bacon is good. Bacon aged to perfection under the warm glow of man-made sunshine is a greasy slice of heaven.

Stopping... on a dock of the bay.

2009-11-16T08:58:00.000-08:00

Try this on your next bike commute. When you feel yourself zoning out, getting immersed in the up-down-up-down metronome... stop. Spot a path you've never taken, and ride toward it. See what's at the end. I promise you'll only be couple minutes late to work. And you might get to finish out your ride whistling Otis Redding.

Stopping... to experience an old thing in a new way.

2009-11-11T07:57:00.000-08:00

The Eells Street Bridge. This is one of the rare places I ride the sidewalk... because there is no shoulder, and the big rigs rumble through this part of town with little regard for tiny men in neon jackets. I've probably biked or run across this bridge 500 times. But it took the simple act of stopping to actually feel the old girl. When a truck does roll by, her steel girders flex and give, creating a wave-like motion under one's feet. It's unsettling, but also a fascinating testament to the way even the most solid objects in our cities live and breath and move.

Stopping... for a fall rainbow.

2009-11-10T07:38:00.000-08:00

I love commuting by bike. It is wonderfully fulfilling to be both relaxed and focused — lost in pedal strokes and passing asphalt, yet acutely aware of the surrounding world's rhythms. I become so immersed in this experience that I rarely stop. But it recently occurred to me that the simple act of stopping... unclipping from the pedals, breathing, and looking around might add a whole new level of enjoyment to the prosaic, point-a-to-point-b commute. Today I stopped, glanced over to the west, and caught this great fall vista. Tomorrow I'll stop, too... check back then.

It was a long time ago...

2009-11-06T15:50:00.001-08:00

It was a different time. A time before intergalactic warfare, when a young wookie and a young human could still enjoy the simpler things in life. Lord Vadar? Who's that? Let's ride bikes.

Super-rad image copped from hereabouts.

Happy Halloween...

2009-10-30T13:56:00.001-07:00

An Epic Post...

2009-10-28T21:26:00.000-07:00

I'm a small-scale adventurer. An epic bike ride for me doesn't even get close to this guy, who rode self-supported across the Australian outback. But while you and I might have different "outer limits" than extreme adventurers, it is important to find, test, and push through our comfort zones. The mantra of a life lived fully is:

Do epic shit.

And this desire to do big, memorable things intensifies when viewed through the magnifying glass of Stage-4 Cancer (capital letters intentional). It's why my dad and I put other things aside whenever we can, climb onto the bike, and ride away from it all. In August, we saddled up for our latest micro-adventure; two days, 200 miles, from the South Puget Sound to Seaside, Oregon. Care to ride along?

Day 1 - Puyallup to Longview, Washington

We rolled out early from Puyallup, and decided to follow the route of the legendary Seattle-to-Portland Classic. The miles ticked off slowly at first, as we got our legs under us and battled morning commute traffic.

A couple hours later, the neon awnings of a fast food enclave were in sight. My old man is rightfully proud of his, umm... "advancing" age, and the benefits it affords. He regularly stops at Mickey D's for a senior coffee... which is discounted 25 cents or somesuch. With no golden arches in sight on this morning, Burger King would have to do. Two coffees, black (plus a crossan'wich with a side of stomach upset for me).

One of the more enjoyable sections of the day ran through picture-perfect Washington rail trail. I don't know if it's like this anywhere else in the country... mile after mile of quiet pedal turns under an evergreen canopy. But this is what it looks like here.

I love it here.

We rolled into the old railroad town of Chehalis somewhere around noon. Or thereabouts. The timing was perfect for the Olympic Club, a bowl of chowder (extra oyster crackers, please), and a cold McMenamins IPA.

Bellies just a little heavy, we were only about ten miles outside Chehalis when nature called. As luck would have it...

The countryside in this part of Washington is a study in contrasts. One minute, you can just about spit on the I-5 traffic. Concrete, steel, exhaust fumes. The next minute, after a little heads-down riding, you're here. Wood, grass, wood. Think you know everything there is to know about shingling a roof?

Shortly after the above picture was taken, we were chased by a dog. Not a friendly-stop-and-pet-me-type dog. No, this mangy bastard was off his chain, and apparently trained to kill anything in spandex (told you not to wear that stuff in public, Dad). We shouted obscenities and sprinted hard. Dad fell just a little behind, and for a moment I had the strange vision of having to stop, run back and rescue my pops.

If it ever came down to it, pity the dog.

Yes, wildlife was to be the theme of the day. Just a few miles later, we were halted by construction. 50 yards of road closure, to be exact. The machinery was silent, and about ten orange-vested chaps were standing around... considering the situation? We attempted to roll through and were promptly stopped by onesuch. No passage, strict orders.

Mind you, we could see the other side.

Ok, look for a way around. We walked up onto the adjacent property, which was run-down but obviously occupied. Cue the banjos. Up a hilly driveway toward an old fence, and then...

Mmmm... bacon. Just beyond this big fella (or lady), was a possible way around the road closure. Without hesitation, Dad went through the fence to scout, and I stayed watch. Y'know, because somebody needed to keep an eye on the bikes. I'm not afraid of giant hogs. Really!

Dad had been gone about a half-hour when the construction guys started waving me down. Seems they had a change of heart and were going to let us through. I hollered, and the old man emerged from what I would soon learn was an impassable bog of stinging nettles, mud, and blackberry bushes.

On the other side of the road closure, we stopped for a second, laughed at the lunacy of our ordeal, and snapped this...

And then, a mile or so later, stopped here so Dad could pull the thorns out of his socks...

As we rolled into Longview, the tripmeter had just ticked over 100 miles. We pushed the bikes into a cheap motel room, stepped out for nachos and a couple cheap beers, and came back to crash for the night. I'd sleep with my bike every night if I could.

Day 2 - Longview to Seaside, Oregon

The next morning, we broke from the Seattle to Portland route and headed west on Highway 4. Two lanes, a very narrow shoulder (that sometimes stopped abruptly as the asphalt cumbled into the ditch), and logging trucks on their way to the mill... it was dicey for a couple hours.

And then, damn... stopped again for construction.

When things finally started rolling, we were forced to take the traffic lane. Up a very steep hill. With impatient logging trucks breathing hard right behind us. I dropped it into the granny gear and pedaled furiously until we finally got some shoulder.

Eventually the road widened and the scenery, with the Columbia River in sight for most of the morning, was gorgeous. We rode up a mountain pass in a drizzle, and then down the other side into the town of Cathlamet.

What's that? You want a completely irrelevent story of young love? Done! When I was about 12 or 13, a family friend sailed my two brothers, my dad, and I to Cathlamet. We docked for the night and made nice with the neighbors, one of whom was a cute girl my age. I had no skills with the ladies back then (hard to believe, I know), but this girl liked me. Love was in the air, man. The end. Yep, sorry, that's it. My brother Nathan was hanging-on like a cheap suit, totally messing up my game all night, until we eventually got called in for bed.

Wow, my stories suck. Back to the ride.

From Cathlamet, we crossed a bridge and rode a few miles across tiny Puget Island. There's a small ferry on the island that crosses the Columbia to Oregon, where we hoped to jump on Highway 30. We rolled onto the dock, and could see the ferry steaming our direction. Struggling is a better word. The old girl was limping.

The ferry eventually docked and, predictably, we were told she'd done broke. We could wait for the mechanic, shouldn't be more than a couple hours. One of the first things you learn on a long bike ride is that you've gotta be flexible. Nothing ever goes just right.

Onto the bikes for the three miles back to Cathlamet and Highway 4. Were we ever here?

The temporary annoyance turned out to be a blessing. 4 really opened up and became an absolute joy to ride on.

See? Joy...

On this kind of trip it's inevitable that you'll start to talk about food. Real food. Gels and Gatorade only get you so far. Dad said "cheeseburger" and I could... yes, taste it. But where would we find a cheeseburger out here? Fuggetaboutit. Just have another gel.

And then...

I wondered if the hunger was getting the best of me. It had to be a hallucination. Not a mere restaurant, but an Irish Pub? In the McMiddle of nowhere?

We were the only customers.

The place is owned by an older couple. She waits, he cooks. At least that was her story. There was a bit of a creepy vibe, and Dad and I joked that maybe she had his old bones propped up in the corner of the kitchen. "Let me go tell Joe to fire up the grill," she says. Riiiight. "Joe".

Regardless of who cooked 'em, the burgers were delicious. And just what we needed to find some motivation.

We pedaled on through the day and fell into the staccato rhythm of the road. Up, down, flat. Up, down, flat. The miles disappeared. Up, over the Astoria Bridge, with cars and big trucks buzzing just inches from our shoulders...

And down into the Portway Tavern for a refreshment. Dad was having problems with his cell phone reception the whole trip. This is his angry face. If you ever see this, change the subject or walk the other direction...

We mounted back up for the final 15 miles into Seaside. Whether you're riding 10 miles or 100, the brain does some kind of calculation and makes the last 5% miserable. My legs were cooked. I couldn't wait to get to town and get off the seat. "Interminable" is the word.

Before heading to the campground, we stopped at a classic Seaside watering hole for a celebratory cold one. Bridge Tender. Time to put this ride in the books.

We rolled into the campground to find that Lisa, who had driven down earlier in the day, had the tents set up and a campfire blazing. A beautiful scene on so many levels. Oh and there was this.

I love this...

Seaside is one of my favorite places in the world. My Dad was postmaster here for a number of years, and even after he moved to Washington, we continued to vacation in this former-sleepy-town-turned-tourist-trap.

My brothers and I spent countless hours in the arcades downtown, back when video games were still a quarter. When we ran out of money, we'd go press our faces on the window of The Beach Club until our parents came out to gave us more loot. Now I bring my family here. And my kids pester me at The Beach Club.

And there is the beach volleyball tournament. It's the reason we came down on that particular weekend. Kind of a Seaside institution. My dad likes to brag that he only missed one - the first one - and that he attended something like 15 in a row before the streak was broken.

The volleyball was good. But this was better...

We camped for two nights, enjoyed the town, and made the best of the rain. On the last morning, I didn't feel like walking to the bathrooms, and therefore brushed my teeth with champagne. Don't ever do this. Just don't.

After checking out, we drove to Cannon Beach so I could get a new t-shirt from Mike's Bike Shop. My old one was just plain weared-out. See, it's an awesome shirt because my name is Mike. And it says "Established 1974"... and I also was established in 1974.

Brunch in Cannon Beach, and then it was time to head home...

This ride was definitely epic. Hour after hour, mile after mile, "stuck" together with no distractions. Time to talk (or not), argue, laugh at ourselves (or more often at one another), ride hard, overcome adversities, and suffer... just a little. Only two days. Only 200 miles. But big.

Big, because we don't know how many more of these we'll get.

Some people have no shame...

2009-10-07T15:58:00.000-07:00

and I'm not ashamed to count myself among them.

Madsen Cycles is running a great contest right now, whereby a no-name, no-traffic blogger like myself might win a bike. Win. An actual bike.

But it gets better... Madsen has also promised (ok, maybe only implied via slick marketing) that the winner will be personally transformed by this bicycle. I could be that guy on the left. Beard [can't grow one], guitar [can't play], vintage amp [can't afford], trendy haircut [receding hairline], and all. Outstanding!

This opportunity cannot be ignored. Click the ad, monkeys, or you're stuck with "average mike" forever!

One last shamless plug. Madsen Cycles gets bacon...

5,000 Steps: 2009 Portland Marathon

2009-10-06T21:37:00.000-07:00

With each foot strike, the evil thing grows inside my legs, refuses to be willed away.

As I crown the Broadway Bridge at mile 24, I know the dreaded moment is nigh. The crescendo that has been building slowly, over some 35,000 steps, is about to arrive in a cascade of lactic acid, sweat, and tears. There are other victims everywhere now, walking. Or worse, sitting on curbs with lowered heads and deflated spirits.

How can I expect to do it if they couldn't?

I plod down the little, cursed hill on the far side of the bridge, quad muscles destroyed from what race organizers surely thought would be a "nice break". Two miles - 3000 steps - of relentless downhill. The crash is inevitable now.

Just. Give. In.

I stop running. Stop moving altogether, in fact. The plan was to walk, but I have suddenly become detached from my lower body. At the aid station just ten feet ahead, I notice a volunteer look at me and gasp, "Oh no." I'm the embodiment of comedy and tragedy. A grown adult, unable to control the wobbling sticks attached to my hips... like a toddler learning to stand. I manage to stir my feet to move and proceed to walk in tiny circles, quietly shaming myself.

"Come on. Fucking run."

And then I do. If you can call it running. I grab a water, and increase the pace of my pained shuffle until it becomes a jog. 38,000 steps now behind, the crowd grows on both sides of me and I know I will make it. I manage a smile. Run strong at the end, I've always heard, because everyone is watching. Then suddenly the evil thing returns. With searing, biting cramps enveloping my legs, I am halted again.

Two steps walking, now ten.

And then, a pat on my shoulder from behind and a runner passing on my left. "Come on, man. Let's go. You can do it." I swallow hard, start to move my legs again, and catch up with him. Dude says, "Run. Do it like you're a race leader." Wow. That was all it took. I've watched those guys on tv, and I can pretend to be one for just a few minutes. Yes, definitely! And then I heard his voice again, fading into the distance as I found another gear and passed him.

"A race leader."

And so it went to the finish. One thousand steps in race-leader form. Well, my version anyway. Through the tunnel of echoing cheers and shouts. Passing runners that had left me for dead only minutes ago. Around a corner and there, the voices I could identify in a crowd of millions, there they were... my cheering section. Homemade signs, cowbell, a sideways smile as I dig deep and kick harder.

Just ten more steps.

One more runner passed. Stomp the line. Stop the watch. Joy. Agonizing, tearful, somebody-get-this-guy-to-the-medical-tent joy.

------------------------------------------------

Portland Marathon | Sunday, October 4, 2009
Time: 3:15:31 | 13mi. Split: 1:34:35 | Pace: 7:28 | Place: 366/8133 | Age Place: 82/635

All in the Family... a Bank to Bay Race Report

2009-09-13T20:56:00.000-07:00

Shortly before we left the house for Sunday's Bank to Bay race, Lisa disappeared into the bedroom with an old blue rag and a pair of scissors. She emerged a few minutes later, coyly proclaiming, "I made a Flashdance sweatshirt." It was a big morning... Payton's first race. Fashion was paramount.

Words can't describe how happy it made me to see these two line up for the 1k fun run. Payton's racing style tells me we may have a track star on our hands. Accelerate wildly, burn up all the fuel, walk for a bit to recover, repeat. Her mom was so proud to pin on the number, and Payton can't wait to show off her race shirt at school. So it begins.

I admired my Dad on this day, too, as he lined up for his latest of hundreds, maybe thousands of road races. For the first time, he's been feeling some pain from the awful, creeping cancer. But he lined up all the same, to do this race with family. The guy rarely runs anymore, but still cranks off 7:30 miles like he never quit. He would tell you that is almost unbearably slow. I find it amazing.

My race was decent, though I really would've liked to crack 40 minutes. It was the "secret goal" I didn't tell anyone about. But I'll get it next time. Felt strong, ran hard, and enjoyed the waning moments of a sunny Tacoma summer.

Bank to Bay 10K | Sunday, September 13, 2009
Time: 40:25 | Pace: 6:31 | Place: 29/796 | Age Place: 5/66

A different kind of hiking...

2009-08-24T19:15:00.000-07:00

Last summer, I participated in Washington Trail Association's Hike-A-Thon benefit, and did 50 miles in the month of August. I got there, on the last weekend, with an intense and beautiful 15-miler on the PCT.

This summer, I had a different goal; finish a marathon. There's a wee bit of sacrifice that comes with such a goal, and we just didn't get to the mountains. Sunday 22-milers pretty much squash that.

But we did have a week in Montana, where the mountains are right outside any given back door. It was the perfect opportunity to enjoy some hiking of a different kind. No dramatic weather changes or scary snow traverses. No sweat running off the face like a leaky faucet. No heavy packs or wet boots. Just time with family in the hills of my hometown.

It's weird to return home and see the place in a completely new light. The town I couldn't wait to leave when I was 21 looks strangely like my vision of "perfect" nowadays. And you realize that time slips away all too easily. And you miss being able to meet your mom and pop for a casual stroll. I hope we get many more of these morning walks.

On a slightly less sentimental note... I like to try and stay behind my wife when we're hiking. Y'know, for the view. Mmmmmm... hiking.

Gonna catch up...

2009-08-24T18:55:00.000-07:00

Now that summer is winding down, I will get back to writing. Sorry to have abandoned you, loyal tens of readers. Soon, I will write about the many crazy-awesome things that happened this summer. The things were many, and they were crazy. Awesome is a given. These posts will likely not come in chronological order. If you do not prefer this blogging style, you may kindly take a number and bite me. ~mike

Injury Avoidance for Urban Runners

2009-08-10T21:09:00.000-07:00

Maybe you enjoy running in the city. Or maybe, like me, you're stuck putting in miles on the asphalt because it's your only option for a lunch-break quickie or weekend long run. Either way, the concrete jungle is a harsh environment for training. Here are a few things I've learned (all of them the hard way) about staying on your feet and out of ace bandages.

Easy there, turbo... warm up!
This applies to running anywhere... but on your regular runs in the city, when time is short and you know the route, the temptation is to get right into it. Don't. Spend 10-15 minutes getting the blood flowing. Build from a shuffle to a jog, and eventually to your desired pace. Oh, and save the stretches for after your run. Stretching cold muscles is kinda bad, mmmmk?

Stay off the sidewalk!
Sure, there will be times when you can't run in the street. But realize that the sidewalk is a gauntlet of curbs, blind driveways, tree roots, and low-hanging branches that you're better off avoiding. Stay in the road (left-side, facing traffic, of course) and you'll be far less likely to twist an ankle or get flattened by a car. You'll enjoy your run more, as you can just look down the street and go, rather than worrying about avoiding obstacles with your feet. Plus, asphalt is actually some degree softer than concrete. And over the course of hundreds or thousands of miles, that small difference could prove important to your longevity. Which brings us to...

Think soft!
Look for stretches in your runs where you can get off the street. No, not onto the sidewalk. What I mean is... look for stretches of dirt, gravel, or grass and run there when you can. Your knees will thank you. And you may actually find your ankles getting stronger and more injury-resistant as they "learn" to stabilize over surface irregularities. Ok, so when you can't run on something soft, at least try to run soft. There's a time to pound the pavement, but your Sunday morning 18-miler isn't it. Keep a compact stride. Focus on getting your feet back down to the pavement as quickly and smoothly as possible. Easier on the body, and helps you improve foot-speed... it's a win-win!

Be cautious and deliberate!
Yeah, yeah... this goes against the notion of zen running, running with a 6-pack of PBR on board, and all kinds of other new-agey ideals. But if you don't want to get hurt, stay aware of what your body is doing, and plan for what it's about to do. I once pinched a nerve in my neck by spinning my head around too fast (to check for cars as I prepared to cross a street)... out for almost a week. Slow down. I've also pulled a calf muscle by taking off too fast when a stoplight turned green... out for two weeks. Slow down. Anytime you will be changing direction, speed, or intensity, take a moment to think and plan... then slow down.

Know when to walk away!
Sometimes you won't feel an injury until the next day. Sometimes you feel something pop while you're running. In the latter, stop right away. Walk. Is the pain dulling? Ok, start jogging and build slowly back up to pace if it's disappeared. If the pain lingers or gets worse, call a friggin' cab. It's the city, man! There's a time to run through pain... it's called "race day." Don't chance it right now, gambler. Fold 'em, then go home and crack a cold one.

Have any tips of your own? I'd love to hear 'em...

Mama... come quick! I found my rhythm!

2009-07-27T22:03:00.000-07:00

Just like Steve Martin in "The Jerk", I recently discovered something about my rhythm. Or rather, about my biorhythm.

Do you believe in biorhythms? Labeled a "pseudoscience" by some, I became a believer in the cyclical ebb-and-flow of awesomeness during the Torchlight 8K race in Seattle last Saturday night. I've created a fairly sophisticated illustration (below) to walk you through this race report. The chart flows left-to-right from the moment I woke up, to whenever it was I passed out.

7am: Wakey wakey eggs and bakey. Or just skip the breakfast and pour a beermosa. Feeling pretty good here. Yeah, sure... there's a race later, but that's a loooong time from now.

10am: I have a great idea... how about some yard work? After all, I've almost recovered from last weekend's bout with shovel-and-rake (in which I managed to fall on my head, be nearly crushed by a yard waste container, and strain my back in separate incidents). The awesome level is peaking. I'm good at yard work. It's hot. Here, have a PBR.

12pm: You know what goes well with yard work? Painting, that's what. It can't possibly hurt to spiff up the house a bit while I wait for race time to come around. In fact, if I have a beer (just one, mind you) the carbs might actually prove beneficial later.

3pm: On the bus to downtown. Fading. Just a little. A nap sounds kinda nice.

4:15pm: Race organizers recommended I show up at 4:30 to pick up my number and packet. After all, the lines will be huge. I'll show them. 15 minutes early, suckers!

4:20pm: Wow, that line moved fast. I guess now we... wait.

5:00pm: And wait.

6:00pm: Is there someplace I can lay down?

6:30pm: START! Alright, this won't be so bad. No, nevermind. This pretty much sucks. Ok, just settle into a pace and don't lose sight of that guy in the tube socks up there... stick with him! Damn, that guy's fast. He must be doping. Here, I'll run with this 11 year-old kid for awhile. There, that's b... hey, slow down! Little doper.

6:50pm: Running down 4th Ave in front of thousands of people waiting for the parade to start. Little kids jump out to high-five the runners. I want to acknowledge 'em. Really I do. But they're kind of pissing me off with all their "energy" and "enthusiasm" and what-not. Just run.

7:03pm: Ok, the finish line is just around that corner. I think I have one more kick left in me (so my wife thinks I'm a stud). Here we go! There, I can hear her off to the left cheering louder than everyone else's wives combined. Spirits lifting. Just. Stomp. The line.

7:15pm: Beer me, baby.

8:00pm: Now this is fun. I'm good at parade watching. Next year maybe we'll just skip the whole "running" part.

Seafair Torchlight 8K | Saturday, July 25, 2009
Time: 33:50 | Pace: 6:48 | Place: 189/2681 | Age Place: 11/187

What's next?

2009-07-20T21:57:00.000-07:00

I told myself (and a select few in the circle of trust) that if I didn't absolutely hate marathoning after Missoula, there was a small, outside chance that perhaps I maybe might possibly consider entertaining the thought of doing another one.

Ok, Portland Marathon. Here we (probably) come!

My goals will be more concrete this time, and the training more marathon-specific. There are about 10 training weeks left, with a 10-day taper at the end. I hope to knock 17 minutes off my Missoula time, for a 3:15.

I want to try something a little unorthodox for training; alternate speed and distance weeks. It would break down something like this...

On speed weeks, run 5-7 miles 4x per week, including at least one hill workout and one tempo run. Do track or hill work on Saturdays that builds in intensity over the 10 weeks. Weekly mileage: 25-35. On distance weeks, run 6-8 miles 4x per week. Do long runs on Saturdays that build in distance from 15 miles in week 1, to 28 miles in week 10. Weekly mileage: 40-60.

My thinking is that mixing up the workouts will shock my body into quicker improvement. I'm leaving two days of rest per week mostly because I like to do things other than run. Like sit on the beach with a cold one.

Anyone have experience with a plan like this? Or, what kind of plan have you used to improve speed after a first marathon?

Missoula Marathon - 15 pictures

2009-07-17T16:09:00.000-07:00

These pictures will tell a lot of the story from my marathon. You won't, however, see the to-do list I wrote the night before as I paced my Missoula hotel room. A list containing such gems as "take a shower", "get dressed", and of course the unforgettable "lube up". But you will see what my dad saw as he stopped every couple miles to document my progressive suffering and deteriorating form (thanks, man). And you'll see what I meant in the first post when I told you, this was all about family.

Pinning on the number.

My biggest fan and unquestioning supporter. My Lisa. Just out of frame, the giant pepperoni stain on my sweatshirt.

See, there's that stain. Very, very classy. Dad and I at the start.

After the gun. Third guy back is my cousin, who won the race in course-record time.

I ran my first couple miles very easy and felt great.

After seeing these pictures, I have dubbed my left hand "the claw", and vow to fix this disturbing form flaw.

This is what we call "heavy legs" at about mile 20. Sweet ride in the background. "Ok, they're not 20's, they're 10's. But I keep 'em clean."

Return of the claw.

A really pasty guy crossed the line just before me, but I looked way cooler. Fist pump, yo.

You know your dad's proud when he doesn't ask you to put a shirt on for the hug-shot.

My mom and Dave. Moments like this are fleeting. But I'll never forget.

My in-laws Bob and Kay stayed in town an extra day just to see the finish.

I insisted on a trip to the salad bar before my nap. Yep, always putting good health first.

Missoula Marathon 2009

2009-07-16T20:25:00.000-07:00

"Last mile, buddy. Remember this."

As I pounded out my last, painful strides on the Missoula asphalt, my dad rode alongside on his bike and spoke these final words of wisdom. "Remember this." He had come from Seattle to be a part of this day and ridden the entire marathon route, stopping every few miles to snap a photo and give a little encouragement.

My legs lightened, then disappeared.

I rounded the last corner onto the Higgins Street Bridge. And there, on the left, was my mom, cheering with hands in the air, and my stepdad smiling ear-to ear. "Go, Michael!" They had loaded me up with homemade carbs the day before, and driven four hours just for this moment.

I kicked hard and challenged the guy next to me, "Let's go!"

Exhausted. Don't fall. Stay up. I knew Lisa, the kids, and my in-laws were right there. I could hear the cowbell. Lisa had gotten up at 4am to drive me to the start. Didn't want to miss a single moment. She had encouraged me through months of training, put up with my stress and worry on this "vacation", and even helped the kids make big posterboard signs for the finish.

I put one hand in the air and stomped the timing mat.

Two of my dad's old Montana running buddies were the first to find me. "You're in the club now." Then came Lisa, glowing with excitement and wrapping herself around me for the best hug ever. Next my kids, not normally out of bed before noon in the summer. Suddenly everyone was there. The picture I had painted in my head, the one which kept me going through the thousands of steps now behind... the picture had come to life.

There's nothing particularly heroic about running 26 miles. Just about anyone can put one foot in front of the other for a few hours. It was not a sense of having "conquered the roads" that made me feel like a hero in Missoula last weekend. It was my family's love. And that is what I will always remember about my first marathon.

Missoula Marathon | Sunday, July 12, 2009
Time: 3:32:12 | 13mi Split: 1:42:52 | Pace: 8:06 | Place: 80th of 615

...

2009-06-25T15:36:00.000-07:00

Such a tease...

2009-06-23T18:55:00.000-07:00

I don't usually do the "sorry, can't blog right now" thing, but... we're in the 11th hour of a move from Seattle to Tacoma, with all the requisite late nights, stress, and general chaos that comes along. And uh, well... sorry, can't blog right now.

But I do want to tease the write-up and photos from Sunday's Livestrong Challenge, which will receive my full attention, once we're settled in our new home. Let me just say that this ended up being the most rewarding 8 hours I've ever spent on a bike seat. I'm proud of my Dad for gutting it out, and so glad we got to do this ride together. My wife and kids cheered us across the finish, and I pretty much felt like the luckiest guy on Earth.

But yeah, details to come. Right now there's a teenager's room to pack. Wish me luck... teenagers are not known for their cleanliness and organizational skills. Dis gon' be ugly. (photo below taken at the finish)

The Wend Story: Part 2

2009-06-16T21:01:00.000-07:00

In Part 1 of our interview, Wend Editor Stiv Wilson talked about the magazine's unique personality, its early days, and told us why Portland makes such a great home base. Let's hear about the people who work so hard to bring us this gem of a magazine. Enjoy!
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Part 2: Wend People

MSB: Who turns the gears at Wend? What's it like in your office?

SW: We're four business partners and one employee, though our employee has equity in the company. We also have a few independent contractors for accounting, ad sales, copy, etc. and a couple of interns who rock. Our office is pretty kick ass. It's a big industrial warehouse space with toys everywhere: surfboards, skateboards, snowboards, split-boards, tents, skis, snow shoes, bikes, backpacks, beer, day packs, you name it. We have a ping-pong table, and a rule that when tension strikes, you have to pong it out. Beers get cracked a lot at 4pm, and there is a lot humor. I speed to get to work.

Normally, in a traditional publishing model, you get an editorial hierarchy, which often suffers behind an editor who wants to exact his or her own vision, but can't because he or she is a slave to the advertisers and "the perception" of what the brand is at present. Tension arises because the executive officers who hired the editor have made the magazine a whore to those advertisers, which too often means you get a men's fashion magazine with an outdoor feel and a bunch of internal hypocrisy. I mean really, c'mon, you have the nerve to put a Hummer ad in your annual Green Issue? I understand the bottom line and all, but have some dignity.

This isn't how we do things editorially at Wend, nor is it how the people we've stacked on our board of directors look at our model. I want to reflect my reader's vision and values, and I want to know what my other editors are thinking, uncensored. Because my other editors are brilliant, I don't give a crap who's great idea it was, if it's better than mine, we're rolling with it. At the end of the day, I control what's in the book, yes, but you'd be hard pressed to find a story that my other editors don't fully back. My right hand editor is a woman, and I defer to her about how women get portrayed in the magazine. Yes, men like to look at women, that's true. But I don't want women portrayed as an object, but rather an agent. Men don't own the world of badass-ed-ness, but most outdoor editors make it appear that way. Basically, I'm not an asshole or a hypocrite, nor is anyone I work with, which means the product we create comes from the heart with honesty, critical thought, and mutual respect. Readers feel it.

Ian runs the marketing/branding show, Melissa is the ad sales manager and money bean counter, Zach is the design/aesthetic of the brand, and Anna and I are the wordsmiths. Anna is our only true employee and we'll pay her weight in gold and equity to keep her around. She rocks. Kyle is our main intern who we'll hire as an editor once he's out of grad school.

MSB: Your writers and photographers are consistently, for lack of a better word, awesome. How do you find them? If someone wanted to contribute to Wend, how would they go about it? What do you look for in a story?

SW: Awesome is an awesome word, and I dig it, so thanks. I can't really tell you how we do it, as it's not one particular mode, and there are some trade secrets I don't want to divulge, for fear of being copied, yet again. But let's put it this way; we are the only magazine in our market that understands how modern journalism really works, and we've brought that understanding into our publishing model. And we're not arrogant about it, so I think we attract a lot of talented people to our project who might have otherwise been dissuaded by the pomp so many others display. Magazine publishing has suffered too long because at the hand of New York style hubris, and we flatly reject that kind of crap. If you own a $1,000 camera and a good eye, you can be as good as almost any pro photographer.

I think the old model magazines are so used to having people come to them, that they cease to look out into the world to see what's really going on.

Being a first person, narrative driven magazine, means that by nature, Wend is going to be more personal. Our three other competitors always write 'about a person' and we publish stories written by the people they write 'about.' A good story is a good story and the writer's byline is only two words in it. I grew up skateboarding, and in skateboarding there's a code: the biggest badass talks the least and their ain't no such thing as a celebrity. I take those values to heart with regard to Wend.

If you want to contribute to Wend, check out the writer's guidelines at Wendmag.com. And be patient, please. As Editor in Chief, I won't be a dick to you, but I'm in the 150-200 emails a day club. If you're passionate and qualified to write your story, you'll get in. And to sum up what I'm looking for in one word: Authenticity.
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Next Installment: Ethos

Looking good for Missoula...

2009-06-14T19:19:00.000-07:00

Regular readers might recall that I planned to do my first marathon at the end of June, Seattle's Rock-n-Roll shindig. Missing my chance to enter that race, I think, is going to end up being a blessing-in-disguise. Now, I can cap my family's annual Montana summer vacation with the Missoula Marathon.

Missoula's long been my favorite Montana city. Always said if I couldn't have lived in Seattle, that's where I would've gone after leaving my hometown of Helena. The marathon is only in its third year... my cousin Kiefer actually won the damn thing in its inaugural running.

I'll be nowhere near his winning time of 2:43, but I am feeling strong. On a 22-mile run yesterday, at training pace, I finished right around 3 hours. Gives me hope that a marathon around 3:30 is not out of the question.

In any case, I'm excited to be doing my first "big one" in the motherland with friends and family there to help ease the pain. Here we come, Mizzou!

Thanks Bobby!

2009-06-09T20:43:00.000-07:00

Bobby Gonzales is an old friend and classmate from my University of Washington VCD (Visual Communications Design) days. Can't believe that qualifies us as "old friends", but hey, it has been almost 10 years since we donned the purple caps and collected that $30,000, suitable-for-framing piece of paper.

Big-ups to Bobby for sponsoring my 100-mile ride in the Livestrong Challenge. Thank you! It's time for a class reunion (and I know who will be bringing the poker chips).

The Wend Story: Part 1

2009-06-08T21:13:00.000-07:00

I love Wend. There is nothing else like it on news stands. Back in the day, when I believed I might shoehorn more hours into the day and launch an outdoors website, it seemed natural that I would write about it.

So, I reached out to Editor Stiv Wilson, and asked if he might help a brotha' out. He got back to me right away and agreed to an email interview. I spent a couple days crafting some questions, getting things just right, and fired it off. Then, I waited.

Quite some time passed before I (somewhat reluctantly) sent a reminder. Last thing I wanted to do was be the pesky 6-year old kid tugging at the pant leg of my respected elder. But tug I did, and Stiv was indeed "stirred" to reply.

His email was abrupt, chastising me for including in my first question the line, "I was surprised by how quickly you answered my interview request". Stiv felt he hadn't responded quickly and that my statement was disingenuous (had to look that word up). He proceeded to make it clear that he wasn't interested in letting me prop-up my business on the Wend name. Humble pie, anyone?

As tough as it was to accept that electronic slap on the wrist, I now appreciate the forthrightness, and am really excited to publish this interview (albeit not on the kick-ass outdoors site I had envisioned). The story of Wend, its culture, the environmental ethos it lives, breathes, and feeds... and yes, its outspoken and straight-shooting Editor are infinitely interesting.

Over the coming installments, I hope you'll find a similar fascination, and maybe gain some insight and inspiration.
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Part 1: Roots

MSB: Thanks for taking time to share the Wend story. Your magazine comes across as uniquely personal… like a friend spinning stories over a cold beer. Is that sense of accessibility something for which you strive? Perhaps something you thought was missing from other magazines?

SW: Being uniquely personal is definitely something we strive for. To me, outdoor adventure stories should be a slightly more refined version of the kick ass story your buddy tells you around a camp fire. All the other mags in our market use the age old rockstar/hero formula (Lance Armstrong is on the cover again!) and after reading about these dudes (and I say dudes because they barely, barely cover women unless they're 'uncovering them') you just feel like you’re 'never going to be that good.' I've met a lot of badass adventurers in my life, and all of them, besides being great athletes are in fact human and as such, are imperfect. I like to draw that out in our publication because those aspects are what our readers can empathize with. Our heroes are people who go into the wild for a purpose other than their own bragging rights. The humility I approach our editorial with comes from being a surfer and realizing no matter how good I get, the ocean is always going to remind me how bad I suck. Nature isn't something you conquer, it's something you respect. Adventure is a state of mind, and a way of life. I'm sick of the cabal that exploits and deifies it in print, and then sells it with tits. Those people aren't real, they're airbrushed and they sure as hell ain't you and me.

MSB: What was the catalyst for creating Wend? Does the story begin in a basement with a PC and a pirated copy of Photoshop, or did you hit the ground running and land, glossy paper and all, in 7-11 stores everywhere? Tell us about the early days.

SW: No comment on the Photoshop, but it wasn't a PC, it was a Mac. Ian Marshall, our [then] publisher and founder, was approached by an investor and Ian developed the concept, brought his idea to me, and I was stoked to get involved. He figured out how to sell it without selling it out, and I figured out how to get it written. But we had issues with the initial investor's business ethic/aesthetic sense, and we left him in the spring '08, and forged out on our own. We worked for nothing in the early days, and when we took control, we structured our own pay below market value so we could be printed on sustainable paper, as we wanted to be putting our money where our mouth is.

MSB: Every journey needs a home base. How important is the city of Portland as yours?

SW: Portland is awesome; everyone lives here to get out of here on the weekends. You have every kind of adventure sport within 60 miles of downtown, and you have a city full of enviros who want to protect the wild places where they play. It's like living in the Platonic form of your demographic. Not to mention there are a lot enviro outdoor brands here too. Also, Oregon has every kind of climate that the continental US has, and since we do all our stock photography in house, it's helpful to have mountain, desert, and ocean a short drive away.
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Next Installment: Wend People

One more call to y'all...

2009-06-08T20:51:00.000-07:00

Well, the day is nearly upon us. And while I'm not really in the kind of shape a guy should be in to ride 100 miles, I couldn't be happier that my dad has signed up to ride the Livestrong Challenge alongside me. In fact, the ol' turkey has out-fundraised his son!

Thank you to everyone who has pledged their support to this point. If you haven't stepped up, please consider it. Visit my Personal Challenge Page and make a donation! Any amount is appreciated.

Thanks all. Watch this space for a ride report at the end of the month!

Off the Asphalt: Brooks long-term test...

2009-05-28T19:33:00.000-07:00

Part 1: Proving Grounds

Since I started running seriously again about six months ago, I've cherished every opportunity to venture off the road. Passing drivers must wonder what I'm doing bounding through tall grass, like a caribou in short shorts, when there's perfectly good concrete just a couple yards away. But I love it. Makes me feel like a kid.

There's one spot in particular that's perfect for stretching out the legs and dodging a few ruts. Four miles of river-grade sand, dirt, and compacted mud just a couple miles from my office. This spot would be the proving grounds for my shake-down run with a brand new pair of Brooks Cascadia 4 trail shoes.

I was ecstatic when Brooks Running reached out and offered me a pair of their sneaks for testing. Whooo, meeeee? I'd never run in Brooks before, but a little research convinced me to give 'em a try. The company is local, small enough to care about their stuff, and very engaged with social media. Plus... free sneaks.

My Cascadia 4's arrived quickly and smelled like new shoes when I opened the box. I was hoping for that. The next morning, in the car, I secretly ogled my own feet and did that finger-gun, click-click noise at them. "Yeah, I'm talkin' to you. Lookin' good, guys." They did not slip off the bug's foot pedals on my long commute. In fact, they were measurably more suited to this task than my bald-soled, 4-year old Converse Chucks. So far, so good.

I couldn't wait for my lunch break. The Proving Grounds were calling. While I was changing, I snapped a few pics so you can see these bad boys from all angles. Good thing my office mate is out of town, as I did this pro-level photography in my socks and underwear. Anyway...

The run was fantastic. Having only done this stretch in road shoes, I was impressed with a few things. 1) The stability and "roll-control" as my feet struck ruts and imperfections 2) The traction on loose gravel 3) The "flotation" of the shoes in soft sand 4) Their ability to shed sticky mud. In all honesty, though, I had to force myself to think about the shoes. Most of the time they weren't there, and I was just enjoying flying down the road.

My only gripe at this early stage is with the laces. They're oval, and tend to twist when unlacing, then further twist when lacing back up. This may improve as they break in, or I might just replace them with flat laces. Whatever. Laces schmaces. These shoes are dead sexy. I can't wait to get 'em out on the trail, tear up some hills, and really push hard around corners... things I was never really confident enough to do in my road shoes.

Thanks again, Brooks! Now, about my upcoming marathon ;)
More reports to come...

Definitely full...

2009-05-28T17:20:00.000-07:00

After a failed experiment in solo beer-lunching at the Harmon (see post below), the universe has been restored to normal.

Two guys, two beers, some peanuts and cold chili... and plenty of bullshit.

All is right again.
Love ya, dad!

Half-empty...

2009-05-22T05:38:00.000-07:00

I started having lunch with my dad on Thursdays shortly after we found out he had cancer. Put it in the "why haven't we been doing this for years?" category.

Eventually we settled into Harmon Brewery in Tacoma as our regular spot. The clubhouse, as we now call it. $1 beers pretty much sealed that deal.

Yesterday the old man couldn't make it. He had an appointment with the oncologist to discuss options, in light of the fact that his PSA (the benchmark number of prostate cancer) just doubled. Again.

So I stopped in by myself. And couldn't believe how empty the place felt.

Stomping the Trail - Cougar Mountain #1...

2009-05-18T22:42:00.000-07:00

That's me, the little highlighted gray bar to the left. 39th out of 262. Hey, I know it's not about where you finish. It's about how you ran the race, and were you a good sport, and did you remember to finish your peas and say "thank you."

But I'll take 39th. And I'll take an 8:15 pace on a course that was equal parts swampy moor-crossing, gut-busting singletrack hill climb, and quad-burning twisty descent. And I'll definitely take 39th on road shoes, navigating tree roots, log jumps, and foot-deep mud (all with just a wee homebrew hangover from the night before).

I'll take 39th and build on it. Because I can feel my legs getting stronger beneath me. Every time I step outside and hit the asphalt or the trail, I'm stronger. Faster.

The Cougar Mountain Trail Series, put on by Seattle Running Company, is first class. Well-marked and well-supported, with a large percentage of entry fees going right back into the trails... it's a model for others to follow. The races attract some of the best trail runners in the region, and I'm just happy I could tug on their coat tails.

For the first few hundred yards, anyway :)

Mother's Day Ride, a new tradition...

2009-05-18T21:44:00.000-07:00

It's not open for debate... Mother's Day is best spent on the seat of a bicycle. Ask my wife, the matriarch, amazing mom and friend to our 3 chitlin's, and I'm sure she'll agree. After all, there are precious few days you can force an unruly teenager to push pedals. This is one.

We took full advantage with a Farmer's Market tour that carried us from Ballard to Fremont, and beyond. Well, ok... just from Ballard to Fremont. But we did hit two markets, Coldstone Creamery, and more importantly stretched out our legs as a family.

So rare it seems.And so beautiful.

Makes a guy want to have this every day. But if that was the case, we wouldn't appreciate it as much. So we'll take these sunny Sundays when everything seems perfect... we'll take them one at a time, as they come, and lock them up in memory as a snapshot.

One moment.

This is why we ride...

2009-05-18T20:58:00.000-07:00

For a second to pause, breathe, and realize how lucky we are.

For chance "wildlife" encounters.And yes, people... for a well-deserved cold one.

Sunday, May 3. Phil's Metric Century. It was supposed to rain cats and dogs, but we were greeted instead with sunshine and 65-degrees. A beautiful day to pedal around the South Sound. 67 miles, strong all morning. Could've gone another 30, but glad we didn't have to. This is the way they all should be.

Going dark...

2009-05-07T22:09:00.000-07:00

Several years ago, I'd had it with our television. It had become a black hole in the corner of our living room. A time-sucking vacuum into which entire evenings disappeared.

We were having company stay with us over the holidays that year, and after we got through those couple weeks, I was going to cancel the cable. Take it old-school. Rabbit-ear antenna, kid.

Then the unimaginable happened. My father-in-law bought us a new tv for Christmas. Big, shiny, beautiful 50-inch plasma. A beacon of high definition hope. We did not cancel cable. No... in fact, we upgraded to 300 channels of satellite. And while it's been a good run, I think it's time to go old-school.

We'll miss the high-def sports, cycling, and our Food Network. But maybe going dark will give us more time to actually bike, play, and cook together. Besides, when they start producing spin-offs to shows like "Rock of Love", it's time to re-evaluate one's media consumption.

You gotta grab your minutes where you can, and here's where we're starting. Wish us luck! *click*

Lagunitas IPA and the Parkway Tavern...

2009-04-28T23:48:00.000-07:00

There is a time and place for every beer.

I just spent an entire weekend pulling weeds and pruning trees. For that time and place, the beer was the esteemed Blue Ribbon, poured ice-cold in the most direct route to my belly. But when life affords a few minutes to relax, I like it to be in a place like the Parkway Tavern, with a beer like Lagunitas IPA.

Tucked neatly among historic Tacoma homes, the Parkway (itself a converted craftsman) is "neighborhood bar" defined. Awhile back, several carpenter regulars pulled down a couple drop tiles, discovered a mahogany ceiling, and set to work renovating the pub after hours. The result is a real home-away-from home... if your home has 30 beers on tap, and shuffleboard and pinball in the back.

One of the beers currently being pulled at the Parkway comes from the Petaluma craft brewery, Lagunitas. Ok, queue the Forrest Gump impression: "I'm a simple man, Jinnay. I don't know a lot of big city words to talk about beer. But, I know what good is." And Lagunitas IPA is very good. Hoppy and aromatic, but smooth and virtually free of bitter aftertaste. How was that? Official enough? Just trust me, folks... it's good.

And when sipped at a joint like the Parkway, Lagunitas definitely gives yard work and PBR a good run for the money.

Lagunitas | The Parkway

Drop it like it's... hot?

2009-04-28T23:03:00.000-07:00

Do you ever hop on the computer and run into something you hadn't bargained for? A careless indiscretion left by your significant other?

I don't even know what it means, much less what to do about it...

One Moment: a Daffodil Classic ride report...

2009-04-27T23:10:00.000-07:00

When I set to write about a small adventure, I like to pick out one singular moment and work back.

For April 19th, the day of the 62-mile Daffodil Classic, this is the moment.

My best girl, youngest daughter, and baby niece... finding a patch of sun just big enough to spread out some toys on one of the first really nice days this spring. Everything that came before was merely leading to this snapshot.

Oh, the ride? It was great. Really, it was. The are few things I enjoy as much as turning the pedals with my dad, playing our tough-guy cat and mouse games, stopping to pose for another in our ongoing series of "see, that's me, and that there's my bike" photos.

We had some spectacular views of Mt. Rainier, bringing back all kinds of great memories from our ride around the big fella last summer.

About 45 miles in, we had a cold one at the Blue Moon, a biker bar in tiny Eatonville (and pit stop on the aforementioned Rainier adventure). But when the bikers and their old ladies started piling in, cursing all the cyclists on the road that day, we thought it best to skeedaddle. We briefly considered tipping over the row of hogs outside, Pee-Wee Herman style.

Dad rode his usual, steady pace throughout and finished strong, while I (true to form) started out too hard, then blew apart at the end. We climbed, rode hard in the drops on the flats, and bombed a couple outstanding descents. We laughed, took shots at one another, and tried not to talk about cancer.

Another great day on the bike. But I couldn't wait to get to the house.

The sun was out, the beer was cold, and the barbecue was hot. It was time to come together with family and put our collective pasty-white legs on the deck railing. Time to cook, share stories of the day, and enjoy the kids before their inevitable decline into teenager-dom. Time for three of my favorite girls to find a little patch of sunlight and spread out some toys.

Yep... a lot of what makes an adventure memorable is the after.

The day the music died...

2009-04-21T19:11:00.001-07:00

The facebook fan page messages have been taunting me for 2 weeks. "Seattle Rock-n-Roll Marathon almost sold out!" and most recently, "Only 900 spots left, better hurry." That last one, I knew, was the funeral bell. Just now, I found out it's official. Sold out. I didn't get in. Caught between paychecks.

But where do they get off charging $115 for a race? And why don't I ever have any money? And wasn't Obama supposed to fix all this, anyway? I want my blanky.

Time to formulate a plan B.

Portland, maybe? That's just when I wanted to be peaking for cyclocross season, though. Hmmm... anyone know of another good marathon in the Northwest (WA, OR, ID, MT, UT) taking place in late June or early July?

Stomping the Trail - Squak Mountain 10k

2009-04-14T21:44:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure I've ever placed top-5 in anything.

Ok, so I did win the Academic Olympics in 5th grade with a *cough, cough, buff fingernails on sweater vest* ingenious Rube Goldberg device that used a rubber band and a golf ball to snuff out a candle and tip over a glass of water. But a top-5 in sports? No, sir. I routinely finished 6th out of 8 in high school track events (and do hereby extend a heartfelt thank you to Todd and Tom, the only two kids less interested in running than myself).

Anyway... last week I ran my first trail race, a very difficult 10k at Squak Mountain. The run pitched up hard right from the start and continued thusly, without relief, for 3 miles. The course then turned abrubtly down for a knee-punishing 3 mile descent. Some uphill sections were impossibly steep and slippery with fresh mud, un-runnable. Some downhill sections were balls-to-the-wall, out of control fast.

It was great fun... the first time I've ever driven my heels into the dirt with complete abandon, focused only on keeping step with the guy in front of me (he's pushed ahead a few yards... kick harder!). I ended up 4th male, out of 25 or so. The winner set a new course record. I was a mere buck-thirty behind, and had run with the leaders most of the race.

Last Saturday was a revelation... I heart the trail run.

Ride Report - The Tulip Pedal...

2009-04-14T19:28:00.000-07:00

We started the morning by coaxing two hot Italian ladies into the back of my Dad's truck. Bikes, you perverts. How many great Saturdays have started just like this?

Last year, The Tulip Pedal (in spite of it's delicate-sounding name) straight kicked our ass. We faced a headwind that literally stood us on our pedals for 20+ miles. It was one of the tougher days I've had on the bike. But this year was going to be different. Sky blue, legs strong, backpack carrying two Busch Light tallboys.

We started out fast from LaConner, tiny tourist burg in the heart of flower country, riding with Mona, her husband Mike, and their friend Marcia. Knowing that Spring is late this year, we stopped at the first field of daffodils, because it would likely be one of the last. Photo op.

On the next stretch, it became clear that Marcia would be my headwind this year. She was attacking hills with an energy I couldn't find, and dear old dad was matching.

After the first rest stop, energized by a handful of Shot Bloks, I put my head down and rode away from everyone for about a half-hour. Hands in the drops, effortless straight line, riding hard. I stopped and waited for Team Geriatric to catch up, blissfully ignorant of my impending unraveling.

I first became aware I was going to bonk somewhere around mile 50. At 55, I started to bemoan the pace, and even made a conscious decision to not take my turn at the front. The brain always goes limp first. Soon my legs followed, stiffening, and developing a serious knot in the left hamstring. Cursing every pedal stroke, I fell back and let the others ride away.

I hobbled back into LaConner, riding alongside my Dad, who had stopped to wait when he realized I'd hit the wall. Back in town, we met up with Lisa, fresh from her second big ride of 20 miles! My girl's not messing around here... she fully intends to work up to a century by summer. I'd been cycling daily for two years before I reached that milestone. Go baby!

We finished off the 62-mile day as it should have been. LaConner Brewing for pints and wood-fired pizza. All was right with the world again.

Bring on the next ride.

McClellan Butte...

2009-03-30T15:54:00.000-07:00

Another flashback from last August's 50-mile hike-a-thon to benefit Washington Trails Association. I'll be touching the top this year!

Pacific Crest Trail...

2009-03-26T19:22:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite places to play. More snaps from this 2008 hike...

On getting lost...

2009-03-24T19:18:00.000-07:00

The current Outside Magazine gives readers a paragraph from each of several dozen adventurers on why they do what they do. Flipping through the oft-predictable variations on "because it's there", I stopped on page 82, which I read several times. Doug Peacock, American wild man and author of "Grizzly Years" offered this bit of wisdom:

"Don't just bang down the trail thinking about your girlfriend or your stock portfolio. Go like another animal. All of a sudden you're part of an ancient system again. And after four or five days, something happens. You're part of the original landscape, a far older, more faded world."

This got me thinking about my own reasons for exploring. About the day I tried hiking with my mp3 player, then quickly put it away. It felt strange to be shutting-out. I wanted to hear the birds scattering, to get lost in the rhythm of my boots on the soft carpet of the trail. Peacock continues:

"If you're comfortable with yourself, go solo. Solitude is the deepest well I know, and it's your right to drink from it. And no GPS devices; the opportunity to get lost on today's planet is a privilege."

Ironic that the page opposite this quote displays a glossy ad for the DeLorme Earthmate, and compels adventurers to "get serious".

I would never suggest that everyday adventurers travel the backcountry without the knowledge and skills to survive. And it's tough to defend hikers whose irresponsible actions require costly and troublesome search-and-rescue.

But do we need trekking poles, $300 boots, and the latest GPS device every time we step out the door? Or are all these doo-dads and gadgets just getting in the way of a deeper relationship with our planet, and preventing us from losing ourselves in a more "ancient system"? And what of all the cast-off plastic and electronic detritus?

I realize there are no "right" answers.

As for me, I don't run with a watch or bike with a computer. The charts and graphs of my small adventures are secondary to the sights, sounds, and feelings. Doug Peacock's idea of "being connected" is far more appealing to me than the modern, technological definition.

How about you?

Ride Report - The McClinchy Mile...

2009-03-23T21:32:00.000-07:00

Lisa was so nervous Saturday morning. It was her first "organized" bike ride, and I can still remember the doubts those kind of milestones engender. How do I register? Do I have the right gear? Am I in good enough shape? What if I get a flat? Poor girl couldn't even finish her breakfast.

She paced around for the better part of an hour, as my Dad and I tried to keep up with the questions and allay the fear. With some reluctance, I headed out with Dad (we were riding a longer distance and wanted to coordinate our finish times), leaving my Lisa to sweat it out. She'd be riding with friends, but the waiting would have to be done alone.

We hit the start about 8am, and gol'durn it was chilly... just north of 30-degrees. Dad's friend Mona met us there. She's training for tri this summer, and an eventual Ironman. I once told him I thought that with enough training I could be a decent triathlete. To which he deadpanned, "Nope. Hahns can't swim. You'll sink like a rock."

Another dream crushed.

It was tough to get warmed up, but a couple big hills took care of that. Soon, we were enjoying one of the most beautiful mornings I can remember seeing from the seat of a bicycle. The fog was hanging low in the Arlington valleys, dancing through the trees and pulling apart like cotton to reveal green farms and weathered barns. Big, snow-covered peaks revealed themselves through the gaps in lesser hills.

You might appreciate a photograph or two. Yeah, sorry 'bout that.

Somewhere around midway, maybe 25 miles in, the sun was high enough in the sky to give some warmth. We stopped, shedded a layer, and I tried calling Lisa a couple times. I knew she was ok... my girl's purdy tough. But still, I worry. No answer. *gulp*

The next leg was 15 miles on the Centennial Trail, one of Washington's great rail-trails. It was here I discovered the rumors of my Dad's decline have been greatly exaggerated. As if there was ever a question :) The old man took great joy in repeatedly sprinting away from me like I was standing still. Usually I make a decent cat to his mouse, but on this day he seemed driven by some greater purpose.

To put it another way, he kicked my butt.

We rolled into the finish and immediately started prepping for the reward phase. You know... beers. Beers are the carrots we dangle in front of each other when the legs start complaining. I was so excited when my phone rang not 10 minutes later. Lisa had finished, too! So proud.

We met the girls at the (not really) stunning White Horse Tavern in (not at all) majestic downtown Arlington. A couple beers and a round of cheap tequila later, and the (exaggerated) stories of suffering and triumph on the road were flowing.

For me, this was not just another day on the bike. Given my dad's recent health diagnoses, every pedal stroke seemed to carry new significance. Hope, even. And with Lisa riding now, too... the idea that we can share all these great memories as a family is encouraging indeed.

What can you do when you can't do anything?

2009-03-17T14:51:00.000-07:00

I'm a stereotypical guy when it comes to problem solving. Throw some spackle on it. Whether at work or home, I'm pretty good at finding patches to cover up the rough spots.

Bad news about my dad today. His cancer is on the move, into the bones at his very core. As he said it, "this is going to really affect my ability to do the active things with you."

But, wait... we just did a 5-mile run in the snow on Sunday. Joking, stomping through the slush like kids with the same, easy cadence.

Shit. Reality returns.

I had swept these feelings of frustration under the rug for a few months, but now they're back. What can you do when you can't do anything? What do you say when words don't mean anything? How are you supposed to fight when you can't see the bully?

More waiting. More hollow, helpless waiting.

Another run...

2009-03-16T19:23:00.000-07:00

I get 40 minutes a day to let loose on the roads. My lunchtime run. Another day looking for a little divine energy amongst the failing businesses and empty warehouses. Poetic contrasts... a beautiful riverfront road, littered with the waste of a thousand high school keggers. Turn up the music and run faster. Stomp it. Leave each step in the past, planted in the sand. Know that the sunshine is coming. Another run.

Miracle on 130th Street...

2009-03-11T19:26:00.000-07:00

The blogosphere is awash with negativity. Snark and whine run amok in this world (and I cannot exclude myself from the pack of complainers).

So here is a quick story of hope, fresh from the "real world".

I strongly dislike grocery shopping (that's what we tell our kids to say instead of "hate"). Our closest store is a depressing microcosm of everything I think is wrong with America.

But this is a positive story :)

So, I'm in the soda aisle, moving quickly, lest I prolong the agony of shopping. I'm entirely conscious of the two pre-teen kids walking my way and joking loudly with one another. As soon as I grab the 12-pack of Duo (budget shoppers will relate), it breaks, sending cans of store-brand beverage scattering all over the floor.

First thought... these kids are either going to mock me openly, or ridicule the whole scene in whisper, just loud enough for me to hear. As I scramble to gather up the cans, and the miscreants get closer, I brace for the inevitable. Here they are. I can hear what they're saying now.

"Do you need any help with that, sir?"

I'm sorry, what?

A combination of surprise and embarrassment made me belch out, "No." And a second later, "no thanks."

I'm still completely stunned. And still smiling. Never mind the fact that I'm apparently now old (and bald) enough to be called "sir". These kids actually offered to help me. It seems that the death of manners has been greatly exaggerated.

I looked everywhere for a mom or dad to congratulate. But the little time-travelers, and any attendant motherfatherfigures, were gone.

Hey, you kids want some bacon?

The day we were bacon...

2009-03-08T21:46:00.000-07:00

This evening, our friends at Bacon Salt needed two giant strips of meat candy to work the room at a swanky pork-centric culinary event. Lisa and I were delighted to answer the call. Most of the attendees showered us with adoration. A few despised us. One especially feisty ol' gal insisted on punching me repeatedly. But regardless of where they fell on the love/hate scale, nobody could ignore our delicious and salty presence in the room.

Fame is ours. Can fortune be far behind? The Bacon Salt Blog
More fame: Gastrolust

What's in a name?

2009-03-07T23:04:00.001-08:00

Gearcheep was never quite the right name for the website Lisa and I have been kicking around. In fact, the name was handcuffing us.

First of all, when it comes to outdoors stuff, we're not really "gearheads". Until last year, I never rode a bike that cost more than $100 (love you, craigslist).

Yes, we appreciate a well-designed piece of equipment. But we're much more into experiences than shiny bits and pieces. Something about the notion of a "shopping portal" was also not sitting right. Uh, we don't shop all that much. And I imagine there are a lot of folks out there like us who focus on doing things more than on buying things.

So, Gearcheep is dead. Please welcome Get Out Northwest.

The core idea is the same: Share our experiences with biking, hiking, camping, running, and travel... and allow other "everday adventurers" to connect with one another. We'll do interviews, share tips and trip reports, and maybe even review the occasional shiny bit :)

The handcuffs are off. Thanks for riding along. Now let's get out!

Behind the Music: Bjorn Turock....

2009-03-06T06:38:00.000-08:00

Nothing says rock 'n roll like sensible shoes and short shorts. With this in mind, I've set my sights on the Seattle Rock 'n Roll Marathon in June.

With just a few months to prepare, I've gotta say I'm a little nervous. The running part is no problem. Build base miles, add in some tempo runs and speed work, increase mileage, taper. Got it.

What I'm wondering is, can I really hope to hang with a bunch of bad-ass rockers for 26 miles? I mean, the bright lights, the groupies, the piles of coke. It's not my typical Saturday.

My wife is making a much more reasonable decision and doing the half-marathon. But again I worry... will we grow apart because of all my extra time on the road? And if we do make it, are we ready to live in the spotlight of rock 'n roll superstardom?

Stay tuned...

A giveaway to feel good about...

2009-03-05T18:21:00.000-08:00

Counting to Three is giving away a very special necklace. Wish I would've picked this up earlier... time's running out to enter! The necklace is handmade in Nepal, and is just one of the things my cousin Erika offers through her fair-trade business, Global Daughter. Enter the giveaway, then spread the word, yo!

Read about the necklace and enter the giveaway
Learn more about Global Daughter

UPDATE: Contest is closed. But Global Daughter is still open :)

Running through "one of those" days...

2009-03-05T17:54:00.000-08:00

Poor, tortured Alexander. Several generations of kids have found solace in his suffering.

Today, I am Alexander. The dogs ate my couch, I got a bad haircut, my neighbor is an asshole, and there were lima beans for breakfast. And I hate lima beans.

My lunchtime run, usually a nice mid-day endorphine cocktail, only deepened the mire of this interminable Thursday. My shoes are pinching, my headphones stopped working, and I'll be damned if I wasn't running into a headwind both directions. How does that even happen? My feet felt heavy, I got a rock in my shoe, and somebody dumped a bunch of garbage on the trail. And I hate garbage on the trail.

Tomorrow, I'll lace-up again and give it another try. For now... I'd like a beer and my railroad train pajamas, please.

FHR pirates somehow dodge calamity. Yarr...

2009-02-26T01:35:00.000-08:00

By any estimate, it should have been a disaster.

1) Get together several hundred associates of "Seattle's drinking club with a biking problem"

2) Hold a 33-mile road race, equal parts cramp-inducing climbs and blurred-vision downhills

3) Add a mandatory whiskey pit stop, beer, chili, and bike prizes

4) Race on the same day, and on the same course as Washington's 2nd largest cycling event

So yeah, it could have been a terrible mess. But the 4th annual Fucking Hills Race went off without a casuality, save for a few burned retinas after an impromptu mass-mooning from the deck of the Bainbridge ferry. More on that in a second. Let's back up.

Mid-January, rumblings of the race were beginning to surface on the .83 forum. I've ridden with the club a few times (and have the scars to prove it). The rides are always a good time. On the other hand, I'm getting to be an old man. Maybe the spandex and neon vest crew would be more my speed.

Internal conflict. Ride legit, or pirate?

Then I saw the "official" FHR t-shirt and (damn you, paypal) snatched it on impulse. With goods from Sonadei in the mail, and determined to hold fast to my don't-wear-the-shirt-if-you-ain't-paid-the-dues ethic, the decision was made.

Time to start training my liver.

Fast-forward to Sunday, February 22. The race meet-up was under the 99 viaduct, a mere block away from the "other club". I rolled in, already tired from the 10-mile pedal from Hahn Estates in North Seattle. Sir Derrick Ito, race organizer and .83 OG, registered riders and delivered pirate patches. I witnessed several riders from the "other club" being tempted to the dark side with promises of free beer and better chili. They took the bait. Suckers.

Rainier tall-boy swilled from a bike-glove coozie at 9am. Yarrr.

On the ferry, an unexpected announcement: "First we'll be letting cars off the boat, then cyclists participating in Chilly Hilly, followed by the pirates." Damn. Big enough for a PA shout-out. Next year we might need insurance. Or something. Whatever.

Right off the bat, the race was haaaard. Hills and pitches, bitches. And it stayed hard for about 15 miles. After that, things took on a new light. I dunno, maybe it was the whiskey pit stop. Liquid gold, served in a cut-off PBR can by a dirty bike hobo.

Pure class.

Woooo! Where is this energy coming from? I'm fast. Is it hot in here? I'm stopping by that tree up there and taking off a layer. Maybe two. Maybe I'll just ride in my underwear. Wheeee. Pedals? What pedals? I, uhhhh...

Fact: 1 shot of whiskey propels a 155 lb. cyclist approximately 3 miles.

The rest of the race is a blur of strained pedal strokes, sweat, and suffering. Sweet Jeebus on a merry-go-round, I really need to ride more. Not familiar with Bainbridge Island, I kept hoping the downtown finish was over the next hill. No. Around that corner? Nope. Right after this flat section? Ha! Another hill? Call the sag wagon.

I rolled onto the docks a broken man. But even a broken man springs to life when two huge pots of chili are steaming on the camp stove and a wheelbarrow full of America's finest is on ice. There were probably 30 people milling around... ok, maybe I didn't do so bad. There are some fast cats that ride with this group. Plus, I know a few of these bastards cheated.

Thing is, nobody cares. In fact, cheating is expected.

Plus, enough prizes (see right) were piled up for everyone to get at least one. Top finishers got first dibs, the rest of us sad sacks were drawn out of a hat. I had my eye on a knitted Pabst ski beanie with a big ol' yarn ball on top. Missed out on that, but pulled a sweet Park Tool bottle opener.

One dude took home a new bike. It was like Christmas... except with a bunch of sweaty people I didn't know.

On the return trip, one final dastardly deed was done. "Pull up your pants or get off the boat," the ferry Captain announced on PA. Seems our pirates lobbed a successful group moon toward a scrappy sailing vessel piloted by fellow .83'ers bound for home.

My wife will be relieved to know I caught an earlier boat, and wasn't among the pantless. Yes, the author's esteemed standing in the community is preserved. For now, at least.

Great event, cool people, almost enough beer. Next year there will be no internal conflict. FHR gets mad bacon.

Coverage of the "other club" riding on the course that day

Have a seat...

2009-02-23T20:59:00.001-08:00

If basketball players were actively persecuted for grass, we'd have a lot of John Stocktons running the hardwood (which is not a bad thing, I'm just sayin'). Sure, policies have tightened up in the NBA, but there's no denying the persistent, smoky haze in our arenas.

Name your sport, it's the same game.

If officials in the early days of the Tour de France had banned and tested for whiskey, opiates, and amphetamine... well, suffice it to say the history books of cycling would read differently.

As time marches on, so does the chemistry of performance enhancement. Drug policies and drug testing will always be a step behind.

Lance Armstrong has never tested positive for a banned substance. Should I repeat that for emphasis? I'm not saying he's never juiced, only that he should be judged by the rules and procedures in place at a given time.

This is not an endorsement of doping. It's a vote for fairness. We are all interested in being fair, right? Since his comeback, Lance has been subjected to inordinate scrutiny, and not even one eyebrow can raise at the results.

He's never tested positive.

Which makes the above sequence, brought to you in glorious, web 1.0, 256-color, animated gif format that much more satisfying (click it to see larger stills).

Tour of California. One pudgy, self-righteous "Liveclean" devil heckles Lance. Said devil receives a clear message, delivered via forearm. Have a seat. And please, man... let it go. While you (okay, only some of you) expend great energy villifying an American cycling legend for unproven grievances...

time does march on.

Vegas, baby...

2009-02-18T19:21:00.001-08:00

Lisa and I have been together for seven years. We've done some amazing things in that time, adventures big and small. But, as we realized with some amazement a couple months ago, we have never taken a grown-up trip together... alone. No kids. No family. No friends. No dogs.

So, economic downturn, economic realities, economic fears... economic anything be damned. We're on the first plane out of Seattle tomorrow, bound for the city of lights.

And we will not behave like responsible, hard-working parents of three.

I know, I know... Vegas is the epitomy of cheez. Trust that we have laid plans to maximize its cheeziness. We will call Excalibur home. We will dress up like a lord and a lady (as long as you can do that in t-shirts and jeans) for the Tournament of Kings Dinner, where we will eat with our bare hands.

And buffet. We will destroy the motherfather buffet.

There are other things we'll do. But you don't get to know about those. Because what happens in... awe hell, you know the rest.

To my bestest cousin Sara - thanks for watching one of our lil' turkeys. We love you! Feed her energy drinks and ramen... all should be well.

2009-02-16T08:54:00.000-08:00

Tour of California...

2009-02-15T21:23:00.001-08:00

It's ON, suckas. Spread the word... TOC is the new Giro.

Get pumped... this is gonna be a great season. I'm so jealous of California homies like lockedcog who can get great snaps like this from their front doorstep. Go Levi, Big George, Lance, and DZ Nutz! And, ok... go Floyd!

It's not always about the miles...

2009-02-14T11:50:00.000-08:00

There's a certain aspirational component to athletic pursuits. It's the addiction of achievement... "Hey, Mike, you biked 500 miles last month! Awesome!" Ok fine, but look at that guy. He cycled from Europe to Nepal, summited Everest, and then biked home. I wanna do that.

"Everyday adventurers", those of us with big dreams (but also kids, dogs, and a stack of bills in the desk drawer) gotta remind ourselves sometimes... it's not always about the miles.

Sometimes it's about overcoming small adversities together. Three years ago, my son and I did a 3-day bike/camp adventure on the Iron Horse Trail. We battled flat tires and mosquitoes, our trailer broke, and he cursed me the entire time. But later - almost two years later - we were driving and could see the trail from our car. He looked out the window, pointed up to the mountainside and said, "Remember our bike ride? We should do that again." You're right, Josh, we should. How's June looking for you?

It's definitely about memories like this. A warm summer evening, my daughter's first pedals without training wheels. Payton's a tough kid. But at this moment, she asked me not to let go until she was ready. Someday I'll have to let go of her again, and I will be the one who's not ready. We never want our kids to fall down... but they'll always remember times like this and know that Dad is waiting with a band-aid. Or, as I've been encouraging Payton lately, to "throw some dirt on it and get back on."

It's not always about two hours on the trainer, hill repeats, or 200-mile rides. Sometimes three miles is plenty. Like this sunny afternoon my girls and I biked down to the library, had a quick picnic on the lawn, and turned right back around for home. Beautiful.

A tough day on the bike is character-building. We all know that. Just don't forget to make time for the easy days. Your character (and your kids) will thank you.

Happy Valentine's Day to the real loves of my life... Lisa, Josh, Mackenzie, Payton, and (might as well throw the dogs in here) Charlie and Polly.

2009-02-12T13:39:00.000-08:00

Guns, broads, and a Chuck Norris bar fight...

2009-02-11T17:33:00.000-08:00

I've been told I need to man this blog up a little. The feedback didn't come from you, my loyal tens of readers. No, it was delivered (rather unceremoniously) by the robots at GenderAnalyzer.

Apparently, this blog is just 72% man.

Now I'm no math wiz, but that leaves an almost 10% probability that I am either female or "unknown". Unacceptable. This post is an attempt to increase my virtual testosterone. Go ahead, call me a doper. Everyone is doing it. How else am I supposed to stay competitive?

Al Pacino, beer and donuts, hey does that thing got a hemi, whiskey, whiskey, steak. Hunting, fishing, boobs, gun rack, bacon. John Wayne, boobs, Lynyrd Skynyrd, camping, suck it.

And... *publish*

Still 72%. That's about as manly as I can get without busting out the f-bombs. And my mom asked me to stop doing that.

A community loss...

2009-02-05T06:08:00.000-08:00

Yesterday Kevin Black, 39 year-old Seattle cyclist and father of two little girls, was killed in a collision with a van while biking to work.

The closeness of our bike community, coupled with the high speed of news these days, saw blogs and forums and twitter pages light up... first with disbelief, then condolences, and finally with sad, inevitable diatribes from the knuckle-draggers.

Looking for easy answers... "Was he wearing a helmet?" Establishing fault... "This is why bikes don't belong on the road." And why in the name of Christ-and-Bacon does somebody always bring up licensing? As if taxing cyclists will spring forth a utopian infrastructure where cars and bikes never again cross paths.

Hey, we do cross paths. Get used to it. And yet, for every yesterday, there are a hundred days that pass without incident. Maybe even with smiles and a little shared courtesy.

But these tough days shake cyclists to the core.

I didn't know Kevin or Bryce or Susanne. But because of them I consider my own mortality every time I ride. Every time. I imagine it's like this for a lot of cyclists. We never forget these days, those intersections, the helicopter news images of crumpled bikes, the heartbreaking notes left at makeshift memorials.

These days are burned into our collective memory.

Update: Kevin Black's ghost bike is up

Images copped from bike hugger and My Ballard

Why do you ride?

2009-02-03T06:22:00.000-08:00

Let me help you with that answer.

You don't ride to save money, stay in shape, or reduce your carbon footprint. You don't ride because you like "fresh air" or "nature". And you sure as hell don't get dressed up in tights to ride around in circles with a bunch of other pansies on the weekend.

You understand that a bicycle is nothing if not a fashion accessory. You're a McGregor man.

You ride for the girls.

What's the environmental impact of this post?

2009-02-02T20:05:00.001-08:00

Humans tend to focus on 8-foot gorillas, sometimes ignoring or downplaying smaller threats. It's probably a holdover from our caveman days (if you believe all that Evolution mumbo-jumbo).

When it comes to Earth's inevitable environmental collapse (sorry to be so blunt), the 8-foot gorilla is global warming, our own personal link to which is the much-discussed "carbon footprint".

So, do you walk this Earth with slippers, or do you stomp spotted owls and baby seals with steel-toed size 12's? When thinking about your carbon footprint (assuming you've at least considered it), what comes to mind? Your gas consumption? How hot you keep your house in the winter? How many internet searches you do every day?

Wait a minute... what was that last one?

Our every action consumes energy. And while the individual carbon cost of a Google search, blog post, or porn download (yeah, I'm talking to you) may be miniscule... there is a cost. And as Yakota Fritz over at Cycleicious posits, the barrier to these actions is now so low that we're able to perform them on an increasingly vast scale.

What do you think... can the good that comes from billions of networked minds overcome the toll we're exacting on the earth? Or is this just so much entertainment while we wait for the end of days?

If the saundola's a-rockin'...

2009-01-29T07:15:00.000-08:00

so are the rest of the trolleys, probably. The crafty Ylläs resort in Finland has devised a gondola car that heats to 170 degrees for the, umm... enjoyment of a wealthy guest and three friends. Apparently, riders are free to shed everything, from parka to base-layer, for the two-hour round trip.

This story comes via Wend Blog, who wonders about the environmental impact of this "luxury mountain travel." Personally, having managed an apartment building that had a sauna for tenant use, I just hope the Finns are hosing this sucker down after ever trip.

I give thee 1 bacon, but only because thou art slightly awesomer than an apartment building sauna.

Rediscovering the run.

2009-01-27T20:35:00.001-08:00

At various points in my life I have run, but always stopped (sometimes for years before lacing up again). Run, stop. Run, stop.

7 years-old; run because that's what Dad does. 14 years-old; run because in small town high schools you do a sport (and face it, kid... you're no linebacker). 27 years-old; run to relieve the stress of divorce (here done with an insatiable vigor, sometimes twice a day).

Now 34, I am rediscovering the run. And the experience is more satisfying than at any other time. Here, done not for approval, a ribbon, or self-medication. Here done with joy. To reach that moment of simple being, when vision reduces to a pinpoint on the horizon, all else blurred and inconsequential. The mystical moment when feet that have been pounding the asphalt in a slowly-building rhythm suddenly... disappear.

I find ways off the asphalt, to muddy roads, sandy river-grade, and patches of grass. It must look ridiculous to see a grown man dart off the roadway and bound across the turf of an elementary school ball field. But this is running with joy. And it's how I know I won't be stopping again anytime soon.

Because sometimes...

2009-01-18T14:59:00.000-08:00

teh funneh is the best medicine, I offer a post that has nothing to do with gear, beer, bikes, or cancer. It's merely a couple spots I check when The Man is gettin' me down. If you don't enjoy these, you probably are The Man.

I Crush Your Head flickr pool
Mr. Tyzik from Kids in the Hall said, "Not everyone deserves to have their head crushed, just 99.99% of them." At the next meeting where The Man tells you about a pay freeze or "operational restructuring", try giving his head a small crush. Therapeutic!

Sexy People Blog
We've all had our share of regrettable school and family photos. Sears just seemed to have a knack for bringing out the worst in people. Awkward poses, unusual fashion choices, apparent inbreeding, and bad dental work are all on view here. Make yourself feel better by scoffing at others. Harmless!

See also: Rad Dudes

You Suck at Photoshop tutorials
Get some software skills and let the always-depressing host berate you for using the perspective tool. "My name is Donnie and you suck at Photoshop. You do. You're awful. That's why you're here. Alright let's get started." Self-deprecating!

1000 Tiny Things I Hate blog
Because Jon Brown is British, you may occasionally have to put up with words like "cakehole" and "blimey". That aside, his rants on everything from Bereavement Tattoos (#87) to People Who Never Take the Protective Plastic Off Things (#10) are hilarious. Blimey!

Thanks Sara!

2009-01-17T11:50:00.000-08:00

My cousin Sara has always been more like a sister. We played endless hours as kids... imagining ourselves homesteaders, restaurant owners, explorers, and more. No matter what fantastic unreality we immersed ourselves in, we have always been friends first. So, thank you to my friend and bestest cousin for your support then and now!

Bacon for my vegetable-despising cousin...

What's up with Gearcheep?

2009-01-16T06:09:00.000-08:00

I'll be the first to admit, this project has been undertaken with a concept that is foggy at best. It starts from a blank page, literally.

After securing the domain name last week, I rushed to the grocery store in the middle of the night and bought a crisp, new notebook. Back home, I sharpened a fresh pencil, sat at my favorite writing desk, and proceeded to stare at the aforementioned blank page for an hour.

I guess I expected the storm of ideas that's been swirling in my head to magically coalesce and give marching orders. Create action plans. Identify low-hanging fruit. You know, the stuff of serious business. The notebook went in the desk drawer, empty.

I've spent the last few days allowing myself to consider possibilities, and have tried to quiet the voice of pragmatism. Last night, the notebook came back out and the ideas did flow right onto the page. And they made sense together. And I've got my marching orders.

A lot of old-school business guys will tell you to keep your ideas under lock-and-key. Build a tower on the backs of other men and put yourself at the top. I believe those days are long gone, and that success is now largely determined by how much you're willing to share. So...

My vision for Gearcheep is: "Come for the deals, stay for the reads." To be one of those places (we all have at least one) in which people enjoy spending some time with their morning coffee. How to do it?

1) Provide great content for "everday adventurers", 8-5ers who work hard during the week, then blow off steam at the races or escape to the wilderness with their families on Saturday.

2) Enable "everyday adventurers" to connect with the site, and with each other, to build a community of like-minded people.

3) Promote sustainable living and a positive environmental ethos. Can I do that and still talk about bacon and beer? I love bacon and beer.

4) Scour the planet for the best deals on gear that lets "everyday adventurers" live the dream. Deliver this resource in a way that's "fresh daily" and easy to digest.

Lisa and I are excited to get to work. I'm building a content plan, and have already secured an interview with the editor of my favorite outdoors magazine! I'm not sure how to handle the "deals" portion of this concept... it will likely be pretty manual at first.

Now you know the story. What say you?

Thanks Katerina!

2009-01-15T20:04:00.000-08:00

This is Kate. Kate is special. Noooo, not like that! I mean she's a special friend... the kind that doesn't come along often in life. She watches our bad dogs when we're out of town, brings over Rock Band and plays with our kids, and cheeses on the webcam to cheer up my wife.

Thanks for sponsoring me (again) and for being generally awesome!

Katerina can haz bacon.

Thanks Global Daughter!

2009-01-15T19:46:00.001-08:00

Our family stands back in amazement watching my cousin, Erika. Already a world traveler at a young age, she started a business in 2007 to improve the lives of women in developing countries. Global Daughter has been a labor of love, and definitely helped inspired me to live my own passions. Thanks for sponsoring me in the Livestrong Challenge, Erika. I hope this is a great year for you!

Thanks Brianna and family!

2009-01-14T12:16:00.001-08:00

It's been fun getting to know my cousin Brianna again, albeit through teh Internets. Competing family schedules have kept us at a distance for a few years, but now at least I can follow her family's shenanigans here.

Thanks for sponsoring me, Brianna. Sorry I farted on you Christmas day!

Brianna has a big family. Double-bacon...

Thanks Beppu family!

2009-01-14T11:51:00.001-08:00

A big thank you to cousin Chanda, her husband Kirk, and (most importantly) their awesome little pumpkin of a baby, Cole. I appreciate your donation! Here we are, circa 1983 (or 1984?). Style for miles and miles, even back then.

Thanks CampingBlogger!

2009-01-14T11:23:00.000-08:00

My friends at CampingBlogger have risen to the challenge... thanks for sponsoring my ride!

Anyone interested in camping as a family activity should really check out this site and subscribe to the email newsletter. I've learned a bunch already, and have only been reading for a month or so.

CampingBlogger gets bacon...

Are you up to the challenge?

2009-01-14T09:54:00.000-08:00

Alright, kids. I gave you fair warning a month ago! Now, will you sponsor my ride in the 2009 Livestrong Challenge, and help the Lance Armstrong Foundation continue its important work?

My Personal Challenge Page

For people living in cancer's shadow - like my mom, my dad, and surely someone you know - "Livestrong" is more than a catch-phrase... it's the only option. Live with strength and purpose. Fight, but don't think you have to do it alone. This is a time when we can never have too many friends. Thankfully, the Lance Armstrong Foundation is in our corner, funding research and reaching into our local communities... helping us win.

Dini Scharf has already stepped-up with a pledge of $10. Thanks, Dini... only $240 to go! And thank you for your sponsorship. I can't wait to do the ride with my dad in June.

My Personal Challenge Page | I ride with Team Fat Cyclist