Hood to Coast 2006 - it's all about me!

Our story begins with my looking at a shiny silver medal commerating the 25th anniversary of the Hood to Coast relay race.

I had been so excited about this event! I've ran H2C many times in the past, on different teams, in both vans (2 vans of 6 runners each will run in relay fashion the 197 mile course). You can read more about the race here.

Thursday night before the race started I was reminiscing with my neighbor Ron about some of the H2C stories we had. We laughed at some of the bizarre and funny stories that we have both experienced over the years on separate teams. We even talked about setting up a blog where other people could recount the plethora of preposterous ponderings presented through the years. Surely, it would create a library of writings that would almost require using the Dewey Decimal System to catalog the many experiences.

The weather forecast was perfect - warm but not too hot, no rain (I did run one Hood to Coast where it rained!). My training was almost perfect - I always think, I could have trained harder - and I could have. But, I had trained harder than the last several years. I was not in violation of Rule Number One (never do anything on the race that you haven't done in training).

Last year, in an ubelievable instance of bad timing; I had a seizure on the eve of Hood to Coast 2005. It hit me like a bolt of lightning, where one moment I felt an overwhelming nauseous out of body experience and the next moment I was semi-conscious in an ambulance heading for a hospital. I have vague recollections of asking the paramedic, and then the ER doctor; if I could run Hood to Coast the next day. Alas, the answer came back that this year I would sit it out. What a disappointment!

But that was in the past - it's now on to the future! I got up Friday morning and began packing my gear. One of my teammates called me, he had some butterflies as being a first timer the race can be intimidating. We chatted for a little bit and then I returned to packing. Things began to get a little hazy - as the song goes, "hangin' at the 7-11, things are getting hazy, working on a Slurpee and then your pushin' up daisies". I started to feel ill and then there is an undertimed period of time where I had....a seizure!

One year to the day (literally within an hour), on Hood to Coast weekend - AGAIN! This one was like rolling thunder, where my brain began to get foggy and the ill feeling continued into a nauseous state. I remember taking a shower and leaning against the wall for support. I remember trying to continue packing and wondering if I was having a seizure. I remember laying down on the couch at one point because I felt so bad. I remember Ron's wife Lori calling and ascertaining by my mumbling, pseudo-coherent replies that my status was in a precarious state, then sending Ron over to check on me. I remember violently throwing up into the kitchen sink after an uncontrollable urge to vomit hit me.

I think I seized when I was laying on the couch, shortly after I got up I realized that I had gnawed a huge gash into my tongue. Later in the day I found an unexplained bruise on my bicep, I would subsequently find that the epicenter of the bruise was exactly the height of the corner of our dresser, apparently I had stumbled into it at one point.

I began to feel better and then thought that I could compete. I joined up with the team, still feeling a bit woozy but beginning to come out of it. I was scheduled to run about 6:00 PM and continued to feel better as the day went on. Sherry was beside herself though and in no uncertain terms communicated her resistance to my plans. Additionally, a doctor friend also said no way. Faced now with a personal and a professional opinion that I should not run, with great reluctance and sadness I decided to drop out of the race. I had a few tears, kicked a fence a few times and then got over myself. I did feel I could continue in the van to support the team, but it seemed prudent to remove myself. In case there were further medical issues I did not want to jeopardize the entire team's efforts.

A trip to the neurologist revealed that, in his opinion; there was no relationship from last year to this year, that it was just an aberration of timing. He said that had he been sufficiently assured that I was hydrated, he would have let me run. The incident again reminded me and reinforced the fact that I am an epilectic (I think I'm still in denial) and that my lifestyle must conform accordingly. He made a slight adjustment to my medication and pronounced me fine to get back into the racing saddle.

Hood to Coast 2007 - here I come!

Road Bike Etiquette

In the December 2005 Bicycling Magazine, Brian Sloan in Texas asks Style Man (he knows everything. And knows it) the question "why is it wrong for roadies to wave to each other but okay for mountain bikers?".

Style Man replies in part that:

"This is the cruel, fundamental fact of road riding of which we dare not speak: The sport is founded on the principle that anyone who can be driven from the pack had no business being there in the first place."

He goes on to say that "...the only hand gesture that you deserve is a thwack to the back of your sniveling little head".

Style Man is wrong! Foul I cry! I'm not an off road rider so I cannot presume to speak to those cousins of mine, but I'll take Style Man to the mat about road riders. There is a subtle nuance that his egregiously egotistical effluent response overlooks.

Now, I should recognize that it is possible that Style Man resides and rides in locales such as New York or Los Angeles. Riders in different regions practice etiquette accordingly. In New York the acronym "NYC" is used by cyclists to reflect the "Not Your Cab" attitude. Adapted from the needs of the teeming masses to procure a taxi even at the expense of others, the NYC is a self-centered method of riding that says in effect "I don't care about you". In Los Angeles, cyclists have adapted the Orange County or "O.C." method of snubbing cyclists. The O.C. stands for "olfactory condemnation", or as it is interpreted "you stink".

Here in the Pacific Northwest we have a practice called approrpiately enough, the NW. The NW can be frequently seen, and it stands for "Nod and Wave". Let me qualify though - although we may be tree huggers, we're not cycling huggers. We don't hop off our bikes and embrace. After all, we are dedicated to riding hard, racing harder and relaxing heavily afterward. The NW is simply a slight nod of the head, which says I acknowledge you. The wave is not a garish parade wave with an elbow elbow wrist wrist twist, the hands stay on the bar with the thumb position unchanged, but the four fingers are barely perceptibly and quickly lifted off the bar and then the full grip is resumed.

Style Man, c'mon over to the Pacific Northwest and we'll teach you some manners! Brian, rest assured that roadies do express their affection here where the microbrew flows and it's OK to wear socks with your sandals.

Dave - 1, Osama Bin Laden - 0

Just when you thought life couldn't get any weirder, The Scotsman reports that Osama Bin Laden was obsessed with Whitney Houston and wanted to marry her. Kola Boof, a Sudanese poet and novelist, who says she was kept against her will as the terrorism mastermind's mistress in 1996, writes in her autobiography that he wanted to give the star a mansion and make her one of his wives.

"He said that he had a paramount desire for Whitney Houston and although he claimed music was evil, he spoke of some day spending vast amounts of money to go to America and try to arrange a meeting with the superstar," Boof writes. "He said he wanted to give Whitney Houston a mansion that he owned in a suburb of Khartoum. "He explained to me that to possess Whitney, he would be willing to break his colour rule and make her one of his wives."

Well, move over Osama - I'm one up on you. Years ago, when Whitney was at the height of her fame I went to a concert. Her popularity was peaking partly in part to the movie "The Bodyguard", and she was singing several of the hits from the movie.

At one point, she had finished a song, the applause was receding like the tide leaving the shore, and just as she took a breath to start her next song, in a moment of youthful foolishness I lept to my feet, cupped my hands and screamed as loud as I could "I loooove you Whitney".

Momentarily startled, she looked up into the nosebleeds where I was sitting, and said these words into the microphone - "Whitney loves you back". HA! Eat your heart out Osama, Whitney Houston told me SHE LOVES ME!

Dave - 1, Osama Bin Laden - loooooooooooooooser!

Vile Villianous Vials

Here's a weird thing...around North and Northwest Portland, vials have been seen fastened to street signs. No one is sure why they are there and what purpose they could have. Theories range from marking locations to buy crack (it's kind of hard to put up a billboard) to preparations for a terrorist attack on our fine city, to offbeat art.

Whatever it is, its got people talking. What's your theory?

More about Madonna!

Well, I guess she isn't all bad. Madonna now (according to the Scotsman.com) urges the (British) government to use a mystical Kabbalah fluid to clean up radioactive waste. Bravo for her! It's nice to see her using her influence for something other than mocking religion or making crummy music.

Apparently, the pop superstar is a keen follower of the Jewish spiritual movement which believes that water can receive magic healing powers through "meditations and the consciousness of sharing".

The article reports that "together with movie director husband Guy Ritchie, she has approached Downing Street, the Department of Trade and Industry and British Nuclear Fuels with the idea, and it is understood she was promoting a water-based solution that had allegedly proved successful in neutralising dangerous nuclear waste in Russia. "

I remain skeptical but I will ask- where can I buy some?!? This looks like a great detergent, garage floor cleaner, moss killer and paint remover all in one product. Cleans diaper stains, removes pigeon poop and neutralizes nuclear waste. Man, think of the infomercial you could do with that! And what about those tag lines:

1. "I got rid of Hezbollah with only a pint of Kabalah"
2. "A little Kabalah on my lawn just makes my weeds be gone"
3. "Difficult laundry directions I don't follow, when all I need is a splash of Kabalah!

Could Madonna Multi Level Marketing be far behind?

Puzzled, perplexed but not perturbed

She's at it again. The Material Girl, Madonna; offended all kinds of religious people of with her mock crucifixion of herself at a Rome concert near the Vatican. She managed to garner condemnation from Catholics, Jews, Muslims, Christians, both the Republican and Democratic parties, Hezbollah, the Boy Scouts of America and Mel Gibson.

Catholic Cardinal Ersilio Tonini called it "an act of open hostility", and the Arab Al Jazeerah network broadcast a missive from Osama Bin Laden in which he declared jihad against her (just kidding on that last one).

Well, here's why I am puzzled and perpexed but not perturbed - I think she doesn't understand what she is doing. Sure, I have no doubts that she is out for the shock factor, but that's getting a little tired.

Crucifixion was a particularly cruel method of capital punishment used by Rome. It should be noted that its origins were in ancient Persia, and that although culture usually associates crucifixion with Christ, he was one of many, many people who suffered its horrors.

Many Christians use the symbol of the cross to identify themselves, seen in jewelry, t-shirts, tattoos etc. The cross has also passed into mainstream culture where it has lost some of it's meaning and become a popular jewelry item void of a deeper meaning. To test my theory, a few days ago I was in Starbucks and the barista (they can charge more if they don't call the employee a server) was wearing a cross. I asked if she was a Christian, and she enthusiastically affirmed her relationship with Christ. OK, maybe the cross still carries more meaning than I thought!

Here's the thing though: the Bible is clear about the cross. In Hebrews 12:2 it reads "fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God." In Galatians 3:13 we see that "Christ redeemed us from the curse of the Law, having become a curse for us--for it is written, " CURSED IS EVERYONE WHO HANGS ON A TREE" (a reference to the cross). My point is that I think the cross has lost some of its meaning over time.

Now, I have flirted with the idea of getting a tattoo, and in some fashion having a cross in it as a way of demonstrating my faith. But, here's the rub - as I mentioned above the cross was an institution of capital punishment. To be literal, it would be culturally relevant (as we don't crucify people anymore) to have a tattoo of a gas chamber, or to wear a little electric chair on a chain. See, it wasn't death that made the cross of Christ memorable - it was life. Because He rose from the dead, He conquered death itself.

I'm not anti-cross, and have no issue with someone wishing to identify themselves as a Christian doing it by wearing a cross. As the Bible says, the word of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God (1 Corinthians 1:18). I think though a more appropriate symbol though of Christianity might be an empty tomb. A lot of people were crucified, but only one rose from the dead.

Well, my rant is coming to a close - now what about Madonna? I'm puzzled and perplexed because she displays her naivete in a way that mocks everyone who was ever crucified, not just Christ. And even in doing that, judging by the picture she avails herself of a sanitized neon platform that she appears to be standing on, rather than having the splinters of rough wood shredding her back as she gasps in pain and slowly suffocates.

Here's my secret to not being perturbed - if she really wanted to mock Christianity, she would be performing from an empty grave, perhaps rolling a giant papier-mache boulder across the entrance where she like an effigy lay trapped inside. Now that, that might get me perturbed!

Felons on the Fones

Jim Croce must be turning over in his grave. Remember his song "Operator"? Here's a snippet of the lyrics:

Operator, well could you help me place this call?

See, the number on the matchbook is old and faded.

She's living in L. A. with my best old ex-friend Ray, A guy she said she knew well and sometimes hated.

Isn't that the way they say it goes?

Well, let's forget all that and give me the number if you can find it, So I can call just to tell 'em I’m fine and to show I've overcome the blow. I’ve learned to take it well -- I only wish my words could just convince myself that it just wasn't real, but that's not the way it feels

Well, if you live in Rome and happen to call for directory assistance, Italy's biggest phone operator (Telecom Italia) just might route your call to one of 24 assistants glued to a computer screen answering thousands of requests for phone numbers and addresses every day.

Oh, by the way did I mention that the operators are incarcerated in Rome's largest prison (the Rebibbia jail, a huge concrete block housing 1,600 inmates on the northern outskirts of Rome)?

Telecom's Chairman Marco Tronchetti Provera gushed as he toured the facility:

"This is a unique initiative in Europe and it helps the detainees get some work experience and prepare for when they'll get out of prison"

Gianluca Descenzo, who is serving a 13-year sentence for a drug-related murder, agrees. "It's good because people don't know who we are, so we don't feel like we are in a ghetto anymore," he told Reuters as he paused before taking another call.

The detainees get paid 12 cents ($0.15) per call answered and on a normal day each one of them deals with around 200 requests for information. "Jails should not only be a place for punishment. They need not be a permanent hell, they must also give opportunities to people," said Justice Minister Clemente Mastella as he visited the call-center.

Thankfully, Telecom says there is no security risk in having detainees consult a nationwide database of phone numbers and addresses. The prisoners cannot dial outside the jail and the company's computerized switchboard randomly directs each call to any one of Telecom's 45 call centers scattered across Italy.

No.Security.Risk.

Sign me, Skeptical in the States.

Highway Haiku

Steve has been writing some Haiku lately and it inspired me. Last Friday on my drive home through rush hour traffic that drove me from my usual mildly irritated state into near insanity as I averaged 5.7 mph for 13 miles.

I found though a place of placidity as I pondered possible points of light to guide my way home. I thus offer you my attempts at "Highway Haiku":

Weed grows on median

Choked by diesel fumes it asks

Is this all to life?

Yellow butterflies
flirting on freeway off ramp
Fly DHL trucks!

Lady in red car

what! changes top in traffic
shameless I tell you

Packet Pick-Up

Wow! Today was packet pickup for Hood to Coast. H2C is the world's longest relay race, right here in beautiful Oregon. 197.2 miles long, it starts at the top of Mt. Hood and the course winds it's way down through Boring, Gresham, Portland then out Highway 30 through Scapoose and then takes a left into the coast range. Traversing the range, the course drops the race down into Seaside where tired, fried, exhausted runners dance to Johnny Limbo and the Lugnuts. It's the 25 year annivesary of the race and is sure to be a bigger deal than ever.

Each team has 12 runners divvied up into two vans. Each runner runs a total of three legs, which vary anywhere in length from 4 miles to 7. So, the runners in van one run legs 1-6, then an exchange happens where van 2 then begins running and legs 7-12 are run. Then a transition again happens from van 2 back to van 1. Etc etc. We have an estimated time of about 30 hours to complete the course, which is pretty slow. However, we bagged a 9:45 AM start time so we should finish well in daylight. There's nothing more discouraging than finishing after dark!

We're at the stage in life where we recruit runners more for character than speed. When you're in a van for 30 hours with the same people, character flaws can magnify themselves like fingernails on a chalkboard. With 1,000 teams (12,000 runners - yes, TWELVE THOUSAND!) tensions can be exacerbated. Fortunately, we've never had any issues in our van but it's not totally uncommon to see a team unraveling somewhere on the course.

I've run Hood to Coast, hmmm - without counting my medals (everyone gets a medal and by golly we earn them!) I'm going to guess about 10 times, this may be my 11th time running. There's been a lot of fun memories through the years. Here's some of my favorites:

1. Once in the middle of the night as the van was moving someone noticed the door was ajar and fully opened, and then yanked the door shut. A little too hard. The safety glass shattered in an explosion of little glass pellets. I swear I thought we had been hit with a shotgun blast!
2. The time our friend who was a new Christian was eager to share her new faith and lifestyle. In her zeal she saw a guy screaming obscenities at his apparent girlfriend. Fired up, she yelled at him "hey you bleepin bleep, quit being a bleep and get off of your bleepity bleep bleep - don't you know that God loves you?" Got a good laugh out of that!
3. One of our runners happened to meet then governer John Kitzhaber on the course. They ran a few miles together and chatted, while Kitzhaber's bodyguard (who had a rather large fanny pack that looked like the kind they make to conceal a 9mm Glock) kept watch. Unbeknownst to Ray, Kitzhaber's security team had him take a detour off of one of the more vulnerable sections of the course. Ray's babbling away as Kitzhaber and crew slowly outpaced him and ran into the distance. Ray realized that he was off the course and lost! He had to stop at a house and get directions.
4. Out in the middle of the coast range early one morning some local dogs were happily astounded by the hundreds of runners and scores of vans along their otherwise deserted road. 3 or 4 dogs were shadowing the runners in joy and delight, but as they loped along the road they began blocking traffic. Vans started stacking up behind them while they cavorted around. Horns only intrigued them and drew them to the vans like fans to a beer vendor at a Blazers game (well, like Blazers players to beer vendors at their own games). Eventually the dogs mosied off but they had created a huge traffic jam.
5. It's not uncommon to see someone you know along the route, with an athletic community and that many runners chances are high. A few years ago at an exchange I'm looking for our runner and realized that I'm standing next to my next door neighbor!

Well, there's a lot more and I'll post after the race but back to packet pickup. It's a studied atmosphere of pre-race tension. Everyone tries to look nonchalant but here's what's really happening - everyone is checking each other out. How good of shape is that guy in? What pace does that gal run? I think I can beat that guy.

Not one to shrink from the concealed competition, as we waited for the doors to open and the packet distribution to begin, I stook slightly askew stance with one foot planted about 3 inches behind the other. I flexed my forward quadricep on my right leg, and then with my left rear calf put it into a position so that the calf turned into a cow. Then I started to cramp. Looking as casual as I could with beads of sweat I reversed the stance and and tried to look casual yet intimidating. Finally, to my great relief; they opened the door and let us in.

Most runners are beginning to carbo load, but for me - I'm starting to ibuprofen load!

New BBQ - and a show for the neighbors

My friend Reed read the account of Sherry and the raccoons (which is not, by the way; the name of a rock band). He felt compassion for us that in the heat of the warfare our little portable barbecue became the first casualty on the battlefield.

He and Andrea volunteered to donate their old one, as Andrea's mom had bought them a new incredible unit. I tell you, their new BBQ is as big as an Austin Mini Cooper. It has dual burner rotisserie overdrive, and temperature contolled sensors for the auto hamburger patty flipping. Rather than taking a few minutes to warm up, there is a pre-heat valve from which demilitarized napalm is used as a starting agent. Whooosh! Yeah, underneath that brushed aluminum finish lies a veritable volcano of vittle cooking vitality.

Well, I digress - I loaded up the unit and headed home. And got lost. They live exactly 3 miles from us, but there are a few turn right here, left here, and then turn left again at the house that used to be painted yellow (crickets chirping). Eventually, by following the path of the sun as it lazily sank to the horizon, and with the help of a homemade sextant that I made from popsicle sticks I was able to make it home.

Backing into the driveway, I saw that Sherry wasn't home. I really wanted to get the grill out of the truck, but it was pretty awkward - not really heavy, but not conducive to being taken out of the back of a relatively high pickup. I'm guessing it weighs maybe 60 pounds. So, I positioned my hands underneath the center, and using my shoulders and biceps picked it up with my hands supinated - kind of like you might carry an armful of folded towels.

Hey - this isn't so bad! I can do this. I simply turned around and went to set it on the driveway. Well, since I had it so high the center of gravity was just a bit tricky. Nothing I couldn't handle but just a bit of help was needed. Therefore, I leaned it oh so slightly against my chest as I began to set it down. With just the lightest brush on my t-shirt it began it's descent.

As it moved downward though it hooked the athletic shorts I was wearing. Oh so gently it began dragging my shorts down. I froze for a moment but realized that now the center of gravity was low enough that I really didn't want to pick it upward. I realized that my truck was blocking most of the neighbor's view, so I allowed the downward movement to continue to disrobe me in my driveway. It was mere seconds where the release of the BBQ allowed me to hoist up the shorts. Although for a brief moment there might have been just a bit of a full moon, no lasting images were imprinted on any of my neighbor's impressionable minds. I hope.

And now I'm looking forward to some tasty barbecue!