Photo Shoot

As promised, bike porn: This is the machine I'll be riding, a 2003 Trek 1200 road bike, with an aluminum frame, carbon fiber fork, Shimano Tiagra components, and two very ugly wheels that have taken 9,000 miles of beating and still keep ticking.

Well, my rear derailleur has its share of scrapes and gouges, but, like my heart, it just won't give up the ghost, despite being dragged over the ground time after time (cue sappy/epic orchestral score).

Notice how the paint is peeling away from the rims! Eight years of salty winter roads, let's hope they make the next 2,000 miles without a broken spoke or rim, quite possibly sending me to my death over a precipitous cliff somewhere in the fog of northern California.

USA! USA! USA!

This is the cleanest this bike will be for the foreseeable future. I even waxed the frame! Wax on, wax off...

Here she is, kitted out with lights, saddle bag, panniers, rack, water bottle cages, and Shimano SPD pedals.
You still owe me bike names. Again, please email your suggestions, or slip them inside a case of pre-embargo Cuban Cohiba cigars, along with a bottle of Maker's Mark and the Star Wars trilogy on Hi Def DVD, and deliver to my door.

Last Days in Minnesota

I stepped outside this evening to hear an owl crying in the chill night, and see the big dipper hanging above me. What owl, I don't know, nor do I know why he was howling, but not knowing and guessing is really much better. (Grant, you can probably tell me the phylum, etc.)

My psych level for my trip is gaining steam with each day that passes. I still haven't gotten out on my bike yet, just skiing for the moment, so it might be a rude awakening when I finally don spandex and get back in the saddle. But I've been eating extra donuts and ice cream to pad my rear, so maybe it won't be too bad.

I just received the last bits of gear I ordered, and it was like a mini christmas in February! The panniers I chose are sweet, really lightweight and waterproof, which is good, since I'll be rained on quite a bit, apparently. Maybe I can outride the rain? Also, I've got some disco lights, a nice rack, new spandex, and a very shiny bike (not new, but newly clean. Photos forthcoming).

I almost can't believe I'm doing this. But I am! As I've said before (not in this blog, but often otherwise), life rich in experience beats life rich financially. And I definitely won't come out ahead as far as my bank account goes, but when I look back at this time when I'm gray and wizened, will I remember the fog near Big Sur, or how much money was in my checking account?

To think that a year ago, I was consumed with finding a career or job, is a little scary. I've found only seasonal work since, but have been very content with that decision. I might find myself in the northwest this summer/fall, working on yet another organic farm. In that light, I am suddenly worried that I know nothing about fishing for salmon and steelhead (rainbow trout returning from the Pacific), so maybe I'll spend a couple days tying some salmon flies. And more trout flies! The fishing season will be upon me once this trip is over, and there is always a new pattern to fill my fly boxes with, as well as old patterns to restock, since I invariably lose many a painstakingly tied fly in trees, shrubs, log jams, my hat, rock piles, and to the river itself. Not often to fish, I've found.

To close, I was helping my mother clean the basement since they are thinking of moving, and we found a big box full of stuff she had saved from my infancy. Inside, a pair of pretty cool Nike hightops, size three, and, best of all, a newspaper from the day I was born. Headline? "Reagan Investigated for Aid Given to Contras". Also, an article about these kids who perform something called "Rap", as well as a glossary of rap lingo. It is pretty hilarious.

Oh, how we outgrow the years of our youth. I'm a size twelve or thirteen shoe now (but rap lingo constantly needs a glossary).

Be well, be safe, be good (to yourselves and in general). And, seriously, send me bike name suggestions. I've received zero, and may have to name my bike sha neigh neigh, after the (in)famous cross dresser who visited Beloit College as part of a dance show. (I think it was spelled shanaynay).

Hoo Hoo, Hoooo

Connor

My Steed...Neigh! Nay? Neigh!

So, a little about the bike I'll be riding since, you know, I'll be on top one thousand, nine hundred and eighty seven point three miles (and likely more). We've made it this far! Also, strangely enough, I don't have a name for my bike. I'm taking suggestions! Please email them to donahueconnor@gmail.com. The more sexually suggestive, the better. I'm counting on all of you! I'll have the winning name tattooed across my skinny white butt.

In 2003, the summer before my junior year of highschool, I purchased a road bike, a Trek 1200, and have since logged nearly 9,000 miles on this machine. During this time, I've hit one car (though it wasn't my fault), crashed numerous times, and driven into a garage with my bike still on top of my car. Also, I accidentally rode down a freeway entrance ramp and onto I-39, and had to throw my bike over a chain link fence, and then climb after it, to safety. I cut my leg pretty badly doing this...and this was really the only time I've ever actually spilt blood while biking. Even when I hit the car, and flew over my handlebars, bouncing off of the windshield, I came out unscathed, as I somehow landed on my feet. Amazing! I wish someone had caught it on camera. This should fit in my biography nicely between my formative years as an aspiring Judo master, and my latter years as a washed up, wheelchair bound water color painter.

Anyway, this bike is a road bike geared towards racing, not a touring bike, so I'm a at a little bit of a disadvantage as far as being able to carry a lot of gear with me. But, I'm OK with this, since I'm trying to pack lightly. I'm estimating that I'll have around thirty pounds of stuff with me, most of which I'll regret bringing but will be too stubborn to get rid of. I've purchased a rack for the rear of the bike, and all of my gear will be contained in two panniers, or strapped to the top of the rack. I also have a small daypack, which holds about two liters of water, plus some food, my pump, a spare tube, patch kit, etc. It's literally me and the horse I rode in on!

Today, I spent quite a bit of time overhauling my bike. I passed an exciting hour lubing my balls...that is, lubing the ball bearings in the wheel hubs. This was pretty difficult, since I had no idea what I was doing, and lacked the proper tools for the job. I think I did it right...I also took the headset apart, lubed and adjusted it, and installed new brake pads. Tomorrow I'll be cleaning the frame, chain, derailleurs, brakes, and repacking the derailleur pulleys with new grease. I've also installed a headlight and taillight, both of which offer fun disco flash modes, so I'll be both visible and stylin' as I roll down the road (though I'm not planning on any night riding, my experience with my friend Paul on the La Sal Mountain Loop Road has taught me the value of having a light when it's dark out...ask me about it sometime! Quebecois mountain bikers laughing at us from their Audi, stuffing newspapers and national park brochures down the front of my jersey, overdosing on caffeinated clif shots...nothing like Utah adventure! When the beer is all 3.2%, one gets creative in devising fun).

I'm a little worried about the added weight on my bike (panniers and rack, along with my recently acquired grecian muscles), and how it will affect the way my bike handles, as well as the increased potential for breaking a spoke on the rear wheel, which would be a big hassle. At the bike shop today, I was told to "make sure I know where all of the bike shops are along the route," since this isn't a repair I'd be able to do myself without specialized (i.e. expensive and heavy) tools. I think I'll cross my fingers and hope to hitch a ride if I get stuck somewhere.

Once my bike looks shiny and cared for, I'll take some photos. At the moment, it is in a sorrowful condition, blemished with salt, grime and RUST from my marathon 28 hour drive from Utah to MN in ice/snow storm. Yeah...hopefully I'll take better care of my future offspring? Ladies, I'm the man for you: I promise to scrub rust from our children in a timely manner.

Well, thanks for sticking with me while I geek out about my bike. It's definitely in my top five favorite possessions, alongside my fly rods, Carhartts, my collection of vintage victorian tea table doilies, and my thermal underwear (in both black and blue to complement the man purse I'll be toting on a particular day).

Otherwise, besides getting greased up in the garage, I've been skiing, eating lots of free food from my parent's pantry, seeing Charlie Parr play live, twice! (the most awkward/awesome bluegrass guitarist/banjoist/mandolinist player alive). I'm also attempting to keep two bonsai trees alive, apply for jobs, trim my toenails, and conclude a long running argument with myself: does Grain Belt taste exactly like Miller High Life?

I think this has been my longest post to date, so congratulations on getting to the end. Get those bike name suggestions to me ASAP. No holds barred, the dirrrtier, the better. Suggestions can also be taped to a case of New Glarus beer, and personally delivered to my door, along with a pizza.

Be safe, be well.

Here Be Monsters

Perhaps some of you find yourselves wondering about the purpose of this blog, and how it relates to my upcoming bike trip, and even the reasons for wanting to ride my bike day in, day out, for six weeks. Well, you're not alone. We're both taking a voyage into the mystery, the places on the map marked "here be monsters." I think that this all has to do with sushi, and flying on planes, and monsters.

See, I just watched a really incredible film, "First Ascent", which chronicles some of the hardest, most inspiring rock climbing routes in the world, and the climbers who achieve first ascents on these routes. The focus of the film is the emotional (and physical) battle between a young Swiss climber, Didier Berthod, and one of the hardest crack climbs in the world, Cobra Crack, which has since been rated 5.14b/c. (For those of you who aren't familiar with rock climbing ratings, this is really fucking hard). Though he misses tagging the first ascent of the Cobra due to an unexpected knee injury, Didier Berthod's parting commentary got under my skin (in the best possible way).

Berthod comes to a realization that the work he's put into climbing the Cobra for the past months has been motivated by an egotistical desire for the glory that comes with the first ascent of a landmark climb like Cobra Crack. A pair of crutches physically hobbles his body and mind, allowing Didier to realize the power his ego has had over him. As he packs up his gear and folds his tent in a rainy British Columbia forest at the base of Cobra Crack, he talks about how climbing has opened his eyes to what is possible in the world, and the importance of pure, unadulterated joy in everything we do.

When he was a boy, Didier says, he though flying on airplanes was reserved rich people, and that eating sushi was only for Japanese people (and rich people), but now he says, laughing, that he flies thousands of miles a year and eats sushi too, and more, besides. He's entered (or perhaps reentered) that mysterious place where monsters and the looming possibilities of tomorrow lurk, a place where a single, beautiful route which remains untouched on a gently overhanging sweep of coarse granite inspires a daily confrontation with pain, suffering and doubt.

What am I looking for as I spend three, four, five, (more?) hours a day pedaling my bike south along our country's west coast? I don't think I'll be dispelling any myths about my ability to eat uncooked yellow tail tuna, but I am hoping that this time spent with whatever I can cram on the back of my bike will be enlightening. Let's hope that my trip doesn't expose me to a daily confrontation with pain, suffering, and doubt.

Next time, I promise more details about my trip because, let's face it, I'm going to be hightailing it out west sooner than I think.

Be good to yourselves.

Open Doors

I'm currently reading Jonathan Safran Foer's "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close." Wow, what an eclectic book, full of sadness and craziness and things we can hope to understand. He tells us, through one of his characters, "So many people enter your life! Hundreds of thousands! You have to keep the door open so they can come in! But it also means you have to let them go!" This struck me. I hope it strikes you too. We can't always keep those inside the door with us, even if it's just one fast move or I'm gone, even if a sudden moment of clarity explodes right in our faces and we think we know exactly who and what we need. (A movie I'd like to see, by the way, One Fast Move or I'm Gone. And a great soundtrack, too, check it out).

The picture on my computer desktop is one I took of the North Fork of the Blackfoot River as it flowed cold and sharp out of the mountains in Montana. The water is gin clear, and only thing clear about the river is that we're out of gin. Every time I look at it, I think I see trout lying in the lee of boulders. Perhaps I'm just seeing rocks beneath water. But I don't think so. Rocks beneath water, and rocks made of water, and the water moving over the rocks, can these things also be like trout? And these fish, can we hope to keep them inside of our door? To entice them over the threshold, to remain with us more permanently than the thousands, millions even, who pass in and out in a lifetime. How do we do this? In memory, I suppose. Norman Maclean reminds us that "Nothing perfect lasts forever, except in our memories". Sometimes it seems that a great memory, one of the best kind, is just a starting point, not an ending. And so it is with the fish, the memories, that haunt my dreams.

Jonathan Safran Foer also comes up with this fantastic idea: You could make jewelry out of a rubber band which you'd wrap around your favorite book of poems for a year. And then you'd wear the rubber band, or give it to someone else. Poetic osmosis? In that vein, a poem:

Three Minute Poem

I don’t know how to walk anymore,

I don’t know how to remember the songs

that make up this place,

I haven’t met the

summer coolnesses, the river

pools tucked low into river shadows,

blue and black; I haven’t found the evening’s

embrace, and the dusk’s soft storytelling.

I haven’t tasted

the childhood sadnesses, color of

wet tarantula dust,

but I’ll try anyway, with my

three minute poem.

I’ll write to tell you of the tender moments,

watching the evening sleep,

revealing the small and infinite spaces in our hearts

I will hint at the truth of

my love river’s quiet moments,

midnight kissing in midnight valleys.

Number Twenty Three Begins

Right now, snow is falling outside, snow falling on cedars, snow falling on pine boughs and it's just in time, a new layer of white, nature knows when to clean up her act and give us something fresh and cool. Thanks, nature. This means skiing tomorrow, though, I must admit, I'm itching to get my bike out. Hopefully I get some riding in before my trip begins.

The details of my trip are slowly taking form. The current plan involves taking a long and convoluted drive across the country (the best kind), with my final destination as Tacoma, WA, where my brother has graciously agreed to drive the last leg to Vancouver, B.C. where I begin my trip (he's especially gracious because he gets my car for six weeks). If you live between Minnesota and Tacoma, you might find me knocking on your door at a strange hour, asking if there is any room in the inn. Please say yes!

I read William Least Heat Moon's "Blue Highways," his narrative about driving round the country on America's backroads and little highways. Should I leave the interstates behind? I'm thinking so. Last summer I took Montana highway 200 across the northern part of the state, and it was just gorgeous. Forget interstate billboards and semis, I'll take the Crazy Mountains any day. And they really are called the Crazy Mountains. Perfect.

Well, the eponymous date for my blog passed just this weekend. 1-30-1987 then, 1-30-2010 now. I'm twenty three. I'm still accepting gifts, in case you were wondering.

Right now, I'm digging:

Kid A, Radiohead

Century Spring, and Live at the Cave, Mason Jennings

Tallest Man on Earth EP, Tallest Man on Earth

"Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close", by Jonathan Safran Foer

(and pretty much anything by the Avett Brothers.)

Be on the lookout for zens of all sorts

especially the zens you know nothing about.

Listen for tractor driving songs

kind of like three minute poems,

singin' and sighin' and fish talkin'.