Carp Love Pink

SOUTH BOSQUE BIKE PATH--Oh I could be Mr. Natural here and go on and on about Snowy Egrets, muskrats, ducklings, goslings, and lizards. I could tell you about the sounds of feral chickens emanating from the undergrowth near the Garden of Glass. But I know what you really want to see: that 30 inch long carp in the clear ditch!

I've seen it for the last couple of weeks...and yesterday I took its picture. I swear it is 30 inches long! And I hear that with its poor eyesight, it will take a bite out of your toe in an instant. So if you decide to go wading you're going to need more than a pair of Teva's.

And what ever you do, don't paint your toenails pink! They love that.

Rituals of the Last Ride into the North

NOB HILL--As Mike and I get closer to boarding that plane for West Yellowstone, it becomes apparent that this is not just another ride. We both realize that this is the last, the end, the culmination of four years of bike riding. So far we have gone from Polomas, Mexico to Montana. This next ride is the last stage. It is the end of the road.

We have ridden the continental divide right up the paved spine of America. The road ends 600 miles north of the Canada border...in Jasper.

Our succumbing to the rituals of ending this journey is seen in the attention we pay to things that never mattered to us before: new matching sox, business cards to pass out to people we meet along the way, and now actually writing out equipment lists. We have new tubes, new tires, new cameras, new tents, new stove. We are taking a new laptop. I'm even riding a different bike--the Gary Fisher mountain bike I used on my bikepacking adventure earlier this summer in the Jemez Mountains.

Mike and I talk every day. We have plane and motel reservations. We have a route schedule for all 20 riding days. We meet at bike shops. We just bought extra spokes, brake and deraileur cables, and an extra bright tail-light for that early morning ride up Going-to-the-Sun Highway.

I can't think of anything I have ever done that is like this. There is no fear...just excitement. This is going to be SO BEAUTIFUL: West Yellowstone to Jasper, B.C. by bike...1100 miles of beauty at an average speed of less than 10 mph.

There is also some anticipation of the end of it all. That, my friends, is not a happy thought.

Cougars Deployed to Irag and Afganistan

NOB HILL--A 24,000 pound Cougar? Well, I'd never heard of one...until today.

Defense Update reports the following regarding the new mine-protected armored patrol vehicle.

As of June 2006, there are more than 130 Cougars and Buffalos in Afghanistan and Iraq. The vehicles have taken about 1,000 IED hits without a loss of life, said Wayne Phillips, a company vice president in charge of Marine Corps programs. The vehicle has proven to be superior to less protected vehicles, such as the up-armored Humvee or armored trucks.

They even have a picture of a Cougar damaged after running over a mine: the crew had only minor injuries. Quite a vehicle!

Thanks to BAGnewsNotes for keeping an eye out. keep our troops safe! But what a world when a Sunday drive through downtown Bagdad demands this kind of a Cougar.

Good-Bye to the Bikes

NOB HILL--Sunday Mike Moye and I leave on a plane for West Yellowstone, Montana. Our bikes left today. We are finishing a bike trip we started 3 years ago. The route runs from Palomas, Mexico to Jasper, Alberta in Canada. We have done a state a year for the last three years.

It has been a route that basically follows paved roads right up the continental divide. I imagine we have crossed it 20 times by now. Last year we made it across Wyoming to West Yellowstone, Montana. Sunday we return there. We have reservations at the same Evergreen Motel we stayed at the day we left. The only difference is we are a year older and a lot less fit than when we stopped last July.

This then is the culmination of 3 years of bike riding...full-loaded bike touring one state at a time. It promises to be spectacular. I will try to keep up this blog as we travel. We are taking a laptop. Also, Mike has his own account of our adventures on Roadrunner Tracks. He has already started, including maps of the route through Montana.

So today we took our bikes to The Bike Coop to be disassembled, boxed, and sent to the Freeheel & Wheel Bike Shop in West Yellowstone where they will be put back together. They should be ready for us Monday morning.

The Bike Coop is also boxing up our trailers, although we will check those on the plane. Greg Overman explained the complexities of fitting everything into a box so there will be no bulges that trip the laser measuring devices UPS uses to fix rates. Even the bottle cages have to come off. The bikes go out today; we pick up our trailers tomorrow.

Make sure to check back...and look at Mike's website (over on the sidebar under "Waypoints") for even more fun on two wheels.

Mayor Opens Fire on Teddy Bears (Posted on the DCF)

NOB HILL--Who thought THAT was a good idea? The mayor must have too big a posse and too little time to think. No man ever did himself any good picking a fight with a teddy bear waving a Legoland flag and clutching a doll. As it was, his 25-person posse wasn't enough to scare off little Beth Everitt, APS Superintendent of Schools. Read the full story on the Duke City Fix.

The Last Time I Saw MaryAnn...

NOB HILL--I took MaryAnn to the airport yesterday and I won't see her again for about 6 weeks. I can only ask myself what sort of fool notion made me think that riding a bike up and down mountains for 1100 miles was worth being away from her.

Men have always roamed around...no matter how much they were in love. What is there in us that keeps saying Good-Bye?

Six for Dinner at the Shiraz Grill

SAN MATEO & OSUNA, NE--MaryAnn leaves for New York tomorrow. Tonight six of us met for supper at the Shiraz Grill on Osuna near San Mateo. Getting together like this has become something we like to do with our friends on almost a weekly basis. And we like to go to new places.

Driving to the Shiraz Grill involved using I-25. This is not my favorite place to be at 5:30 in the afternoon. But the drama that was unfolding in the sky to the east made me glad to be out there. Here in New Mexico it is sometimes called Walking Rain. Tonight you could see the edges of that downpour as it walked across the foothills. What a welcome sight!

Anyway, MaryAnn and I got lost. We were the last to arrive. At least we got there before the food order had gone into the kitchen. For those interested, the people at the table are (from left to right) Joe the Gumball King, Mike O'Bike, Johnny, The Beautiful MaryAnn, Carole, and Marcia...(both are also beautiful but they do not reside in my domestic precinct).

The restaurant features Persian cuisine. The food was great and inexpensive. My dinner consisted of dill rice and a couple of ground chicken logs full of delicious seasonings. I ordered it by its location on the menu: P-1. I'm sure it had another name...I neglected to write it down...something like chicken piddileh. Two of the other dishes at the table were lamb shanks and chicken in a kind of simmered curry sauce mixed with nuts and currants. MaryAnn said it started with a "K" but was sure it wasn't Chicken Kevlar.

It is a small, clean place with Persian music in the background. The food was excellent. The owner, Saeid Setareh, was there cooking. Our server, Ali, was helpful and attentive. The cost was more than reasonable: My wonderful dish was $7.99. The other dishes were comparable.

The restaurant has been open for about 4 months. Mr. Setareh says they are going to be adding some outside tables soon. That would be nice. But we were very comfortable inside.

One of the reasons I am writing about this place is that I feel we need to support the good efforts of our local people. Otherwise there will be nothing left but national chains. The Shiraz Grill is an excellent way to not only get a good meal, but to experience a cuisine that is rare enough to give your evening an exotic beginning. Give it a try.

Shiraz Grill
5505 Osuna Rd. NE
505.884.4610

The King Kong of Afterschool Programs: Monte Vista Chess Club (Posted on the DCF)

NOB HILL--The mayor attacks afterschool programs. But does he really understand their role in the lives of children? I take a look back at my 6 years at the helm of the Monte Vista Chess Club in today's Duke City Fix.

11 Days and Counting: I Check the RailRunner Platform at El Pueblo

NORTH VALLEY--I was amazed at the progress of the work on the north valley platform at El Pueblo. The last time I wrote about it they were just grading what is to be the huge parking lot. But I think the work has proceeded in a timely manner, considering the track ownership issues brought up by Attorney General Patsy Madrid.

Not only that, the platforms are beautiful. Look at the hand-done tile work accenting the columns. Look at the human scale of everything. I am so sick of looking at minimalist utilitarian structures for public use. It is as if politicians are afraid that anything nice would be attacked for being wasteful. We are people...we NEED nice. Not only that, how do you attract riders if the stations look like concrete bunkers.

It is the hand-wrought nature of the finishing touches that impresses me, right down to the bee-hive pattern of the brick pavers. We have been told we are a "consumer" society. All work seems to have been shipped overseas to the cheapest maker. All we do is consume the cheapest product.

Craft work, even the minor elements shown in the platforms, empower us. They show that somebody here still knows how to make stuff!

By the way, their is a bike path exit right into the platform. Just thought you would like to know.

We have less than two weeks until the opening of the rail line: July 14th. I wonder how excited everybody connected with this project is? I know I am.

Let me make a prediction. Martin Chavez will be "mountin' to the cabin" on the first day. Chavez will drive this engine and blow that horn. Also, none of us...the people who actually paid for it...will be on the first train.

Johnny_Mango's Sunday Wallpaper: Victoria Harbor

NOB HILL--I know I haven't kept up with writing. I hope this shot of downtown Victoria, B.C. makes up for it. We stayed here two nights in the Embassy Hotel right next door to the beautiful Parliament building. Just in case you are inspired to visit, the Embassy cost $99/night. This is the "cheap" wing...the one without air-conditioning. However it was a huge room with a nice view, two king-size beds and a fully stocked kitchen. We were there early enough in the season so that the air-conditioning didn't matter. Also, remember that is $99 Canadian...about $90 American.

The Sunday Poem: Marie Howe Sits in a Tree

American Life in Poetry: Column 066

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

Some of the most telling poetry being written in our country today has to do with the smallest and briefest of pleasures. Here Marie Howe of New York captures a magical moment: sitting in the shelter of a leafy tree with the rain falling all around.

The Copper Beech

Immense, entirely itself,
it wore that yard like a dress,

with limbs low enough for me to enter it
and climb the crooked ladder to where

I could lean against the trunk and practice being alone.
One day, I heard the sound before I saw it, rain fell
darkening the sidewalk.

Sitting close to the center, not very high in the branches,
I heard it hitting the high leaves, and I was happy,

watching it happen without it happening to me.

Reprinted from "What the Living Do," W. W. Norton & Co., 1997. Copyright © 1997 by Marie Howe. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.


I like her poems. Check this one out!

WHAT THE LIVING DO

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living room windows because the heat;s on too high in here, and I can’t turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping the bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss -- we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say the window of the corner video store, and I’m gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless.

I am living. I remember you.

—What The Living Do (W.W. Norton)

Johnny_Mango's Sunday Wallpaper: Buchart Gardens...Victoria, B.C.

SEATTLE, WA--MaryAnn and I stayed for 3 days in Victoria. I had never especially wanted to go there. I have changed my mind. What a wonderful part of our world! We took a shuttle bus to the Buchart Gardens...total cost (including bus and admission) was $35 each. Worth it.

The Sunday Poem: Keith Althaus, "Homecoming"

American Life in Poetry: Column 065

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE

Visiting a familiar and once dear place after a long absence can knock the words right out of us, and in this poem, Keith Althaus of Massachusetts observes this happening to someone else. I like the way he suggests, at the end, that it may take days before that silence heals over.

Homecoming

We drove through the gates
into a maze of little roads,
with speed bumps now,
that circled a pavilion,
field house, and ran past
the playing fields and wound
their way up to the cluster
of wood and stone buildings
of the school you went to once.
The green was returning to
the trees and lawn, the lake
was still half-lidded with ice
and blind in the middle.
There was nobody around
except a few cars in front
of the administration. It must
have been spring break.
We left without ever getting out
of the car. You were quiet
that night, the next day,
the way after heavy rain
that the earth cannot absorb,
the water lies in pools
in unexpected places for days
until it disappears.

Reprinted from "Ladder of Hours: Poems 1969-2005," Ausable Press, Keene, N.Y., 2005, by permission of the author. Copyright © 2005 by Keith Althaus. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.

San Juan Island: We See Orcas From Our Campsite

Marysville, WA--We're back on the mainland. Here are some shots of some of what happened during the last week. If you have any questions, just ask.

The sun seldom shone, but it only rained once in the 10 days we were on our bikes. San Juan Island has some steep hills and a little more traffic than Lopez. The scenery was beautiful...including seeing a pod of orcas one evening. No pictures...they were pretty far out in the water. One kayaker camped nearby, however, was right out there among them.

Every campground out here has a designated shared campsite for hikers, bikers, and kayakers. The cost is something like 5 bucks per person. What this means is that, even if the campground is full, no "hiker-biker" finds himself SOL. Such was the case for us at San Juan County Park. All the sites were reserved, but we used the hiker/biker campsite.

We rode to the campground using the northern route across the island by way of Roche Harbor. Roche Harbor is so picturesque you could call it Disneyland for Millionaires because of all the yachts. We rode back to Friday Harbor using the southern route past the lighthouse at Lime Kiln. Here we bought ferry tickets to Sidney, B.C. The ferry didn't get into Sidney until after suppertime so we spent the night there.

The ferry system is used to bikes. They have tie-downs for them and lots of bikes make the trips. The real neat thing is that for inter-island travel (not to Sidney) the ferry is FREE to pedestrians and bikers...so once you get to an island you could spend all summer going back and forth FREE as long as you don't have a vehicle.

Johnny_Mango's Sunday Wallpaper: Salmon Berries on Lopez Island

SIDNEY, B.C., CANADA--Surrounding our campground at Odlin State Park on Lopez Island were thousands and thousands of ripening salmon berries. As beautiful as they looked, however, they were extremely sour tasting. Beauty, I guess, does not apportion itself among all five senses equally.

The Sunday Poem: Lola Haskins...Don't miss this short piece!

American Life in Poetry: Column 064

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

Storytelling binds the past and present together, and is as essential to community life as are food and shelter. Many of our poets are masters at reshaping family stories as poetry. Here Lola Haskins retells a haunting tale, cast in the voice of an elder. Like the best stories, there are no inessential details. Every word counts toward the effect.

Grandmother Speaks of the Old Country

That year there were many deaths in the village.
Germs flew like angels from one house to the next
and every family gave up its own. Mothers
died at their mending. Children fell at school.
Of three hundred twenty, there were eleven left.
Then, quietly, the sun set on a day when no one
died. And the angels whispered among themselves.
And that evening, as he sat on the stone steps,
your grandfather felt a small wind on his neck
when all the trees were still. And he would tell us
always, how he had felt that night, on the skin
of his own neck, the angels, passing.

Reprinted from "Desire Lines: New and Selected Poems," BOA Editions, 2004, by permission of the author and the publisher. Copyright © 2004 by Lola Haskins. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.

Loved Lopez...But Left for Friday Harbor on Thursday

FRIDAY HARBOR, SAN JUAN ISLAND, WA.--It was an exciting time as we boarded the ferry at Anacortes bound for Lopez Island last Tuesday. MaryAnn had never carried panniers before...except for two times around the parking lot just before we got on the ferry. And I had never been on a boat without getting sick. But the short 30 minute voyage went okay.

We went to Lopez Island first because it was the flattest and had the reputation of being the most laid back. We loved it. We camped at Odlin State Park which was only a mile and a half from the ferry landing. By the way, no matter where you go on any island the ferry landing is always the lowest point. Everything is uphill...and in this case we had a steep mile before we hit the campground. Odlin is beautiful. We stayed two nights, touring different parts of Lopez each day.

The first day we just went down the road to Lopez Village because MaryAnn's bike wouldn't shift into the smallest chainring. No wonder that hill seemed so steep! Lopez Bicycle Works fixed it. It was a stupid thing. MaryAnn's second bottle cage wouldn't let the derailler move over enough to get into the small chainring.
The Handlebar Facts (Day One):

• Distance: 12.3 mi.
• Ride Time: 1:32
• Avg Speed: 8.34
• Max Speed: 29.5
• Trip: 12.3

The second day on the island we went in a big loop to Spencer Spit, down to Shark Reef, up to Lopez Village again and back to Odlin. It was a beautiful ride on roads that were basically free of traffic. The only road with any significant traffic was Center Road. Most of the traffic is shortly before or after the ferry docks.

We met two Canadian couples at the campground. Both couples were biking, but one of the couples, Marlene and Dave(?), was doing fully-loaded touring like we were. They lived right across the water in Victoria, B.C.
The Handlebar Facts: (Day Two)

• Distance: 23.5
• Ride Time: 2:53
• Avg Speed: 8:33
• Max Speed: 30.8
• Trip: 35.8

We ran into Marlene and Dave again as we boarded the ferry for Friday Harbor on San Juan Island. I'm not going to list any data for today because it was only 1.5 miles to the ferry and less than half a mile from the landing to our hotel in Friday Harbor. We got rooms in Friday's Historic Inn. We got the smallest room they had...but it did have a balcony and wi-fi. The price was $99.

But the big story of the day has to be MaryAnn's anticipation of tomorrow's loaded ride to the County Park on the other side of the island. You see, although I have called it "loaded" touring, we have actually covered less than 2 miles while loaded. Such are the ironies of our happy lives. Well, tomorrow will tell.

But MaryAnn is certainly looking good over here. What is hotter than a biker chick? Nada.

Betting It All On Two Bikes and a Ferry

ANACORTES, WASHINGTON--Two weeks ago I had never heard of Anacortes, and two years ago I had never heard of the San Juan Islands. Yet here we are, after more than 3 days of driving, waiting in Anacortes for tomorrow's ferry ride to the those small islands north of Seattle, the San Juans.

Our plan is this: we are leaving our vehicle in the Anacortes parking lot and taking only our bikes. We plan to bike our way through Lopez, San Juan, Orca, and Shaw islands. We figure to spend about a week doing this...camping out, drinking coffee, staying in b&b's, staring at the ocean and sunsets. Our rides each day will only be about 10 to 20 miles. MaryAnn is carrying all her own stuff in a pair of panniers and a sack bungied to the top of them. I'm pulling my trusty little Yakima trailer.

Meanwhile, we spend the night in Anacortes. Our bags are packed...but I'm sure we will have to repack them in the morning. We'll get to the ferry early because I'm going to have to assemble the trailer and prepare the bikes before we go. We have eaten everything in the cooler, including a giant portion of improvised chicken florentine with vermicelli.

Did I mention that it is cool here? The bank thermometer says 64 degrees at about 9:00. We took a walk down to the marina. It is only a block away from our motel. I have always dreamed of ships ever since I was a little boy. I would search the dictionary for types of sailing vessels. The dictionary would always have a picture of each type: schooners, sloops, catboats, yawls, ketches, brigs. I loved them. My tendency towards motion sickness tempers my enthusiasm at this point in my life.

On the way here we went through the Tolt valley...in honor of The Artist Ken Saville, who talks of this place often. He comes up here almost every summer to do art workshops with school kids. I called him on the phone as we did it. He urged me to get a hamburger from the stand in Fall City. We did. And it was pretty darn good.

Johnny_Mango's Sunday Wallpaper: The Nob Hill Growers Market

NOB HILL--Thursday afternoons are a community shopfest at Morningside Park right in back of the new Aliso lofts. Half picnic half market, small but "growing," this is going to last all summer. We picked up some mushrooms and a bunch of golden beets.

The Sunday Poem: David Tucker, Poet of the Newsroom

American Life in Poetry: Column 063

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

Remember those Degas paintings of the ballet dancers? Here is a similar figure study, in muted color, but in this instance made of words, not pigment. As this poem by David Tucker closes, I can feel myself holding my breath as if to help the dancer hold her position.

The Dancer

Class is over, the teacher
and the pianist gone,
but one dancer
in a pale blue
leotard stays
to practice alone without music,
turning grand jetes
through the haze of late afternoon.
Her eyes are focused
on the balancing point
no one else sees
as she spins in this quiet
made of mirrors and light—
a blue rose on a nail—
then stops and lifts
her arms in an oval pause
and leans out
a little more, a little more,
there, in slow motion
upon the air.

Reprinted from the 2005 Bakeless Prize winner "Late for Work", by David Tucker, Houghton Mifflin, 2006, by permission of the author. "The Dancer" first appeared in "Visions International", No. 65, 2001. Copyright © 2001 by David Tucker. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.

Love-In at the Hilton

BOISE, IDAHO--Downloading the pictures from my little Nikon, I ran across these snapshots taken at Tuesday's election night party at the Hilton in ABQ. These parties are always called "victory parties" no matter the outcome. The word IRONY pops into my head whenever I see the mortal enemies of an election hug each other during or right after the vote count. Such was the case last Tuesday.

In the biggest throw-down, Messrs. King, Martinez, and Zamora called each other's sanity into question amid accusations of being soft on child abusers, DWI, and rapists. On Tuesday night we find them ready to make nice even before all the votes were counted. Enough had been counted, however, that they were all aware that Gary King (on the left) was the winner.

Ray Powell and Jim Baca smiled at each other...but I can't recall an actual embrace. Maybe it was because the race was so close that nobody knew until the next day who the real winner was. I think that these two races, AG and Land Commissioner, point out how rich in candidates the Dems are in New Mexico. The Republicans, on the other hand, are having a hard time even getting people to run for the state races.

There is one exception: the House district for ABQ and central New Mexico has a Republican encumbent, Heather Wilson. Her challenger will be Patricia Madrid, who had no opposition in Tuesday's primary. Democratic party leaders say she has the best chance of beating Wilson of anybody they have ever run. Well...maybe.

Meanwhile, Governor Bill Richardson hung around the Hilton long enough after his speech to have his picture taken with my gf, the Beautiful MaryAnn. I'm sorry the picture isn't too good...I was feeling some time pressure. At any rate, the Gov was in Las Vegas this weekend addressing political bloggers at their convention.

I am not at the convention. MaryAnn and I are on vacation. We are driving up to Washington and British Columbia. So far we have made it to Boise. More later.

Chess Master Punches Out Rival for Dancing With His Queen

TURIN, ITALY--This just in from The Times of London. British Grandmaster Danny Gormally punched and shoved the world's number 3 player Levon Aronian at the Chess Olympiad in Turin Monday. They ended up rolling on the floor. At the heart of the dust-up was Arianne Caoili, 19, Women's International Master playing for Australia.

Apparently Gormally had struck up a serious email exchange with the Philippine-born Caoili and got incensed when he found her dancing with the leading light of Armenian chess. The next day, in retaliation, Gormally was attacked while drinking coffee at a cafe by a band of Armenian chess hooligans.

Things went south for England in the tournament...they were eliminated while Armenia, emboldened by the taking of Gormally's queen, came in first.

Gormally, 30, found Caoili dancing "energetically" with Aronian at a party held in a local nightclub called “Hiroshima Mon Amour.” He apologised for braining Aronian the next day to the Armenian team leader...who also happens to be Armenia's defense minister. After losing, Gormally went home to London where he lives in a house with his parents.

Ariane Coaili is ranked no. 3 in Australia. She is also one of the featured personalities of a website called "World Chess Beauty Contest." Although she is sometimes referred to as the Anna Kournikova of the chess world, her rank at the WCBC is No. 7. God, I love chess.

She released the following statement in the Italian chess blog, Scacchierando.

“ I only danced with my friend Aronian, that I know since I was child. I was dancing salsa and nobody of us danced provocatively. I think that Gormally became violent due to assumption of medicine and alcohol. This is cause of sadness, because I know both from many years.”