I can't ever forget this: the day after George's wedding, we got Nate Meltz to give us the finger. Priceless.

·

'That guy has the right idea,' I thought to myself, a little jealous perhaps.

I've seen him on the path a few times; a commuter on a road bike wearing a disposable face mask. At first I thought it was because he is Asian, and Asians happen to like face masks; they wear it in the subway, on the bus, and anywhere that's crowded. I know because I've seen it on TV.

But today I've figured it out because today I'm getting showered with gnats. Big ones too. There were gnats in my mouth, gnats in my nasal cavity, and I even found a gnat in my left eye after my shower. No wonder that eye was bloodshot.

What's worse is those bugs seem to hover around the (not one, but) two sewage treatment facilities just off of the path. Now that's a recipe for disease. I know because I've seen it on TV.

·

I guess the first step is admitting you have a problem. I realized that I have a tendency, this time of the year, to get addicted to Coca-Cola.

·

Over the last two days, I tried a few different medications in an attempt to relieve my allergy symptoms. I've been pretty bad, and therefore pretty desperate—desperate enough to overlap medications just to see results sooner. Not very methodical, I know.

Generic Claritin barely helped, and only did so for several hours when it's supposed to do so for twenty-four. Generic Benadryl seemed to work okay, but only as I slept. Zyrtec only worked for the first two doses.

I was about to give up and—gasp—make a doctor's appointment, when it crossed my mind that I had a stash of prescription stuff prescribed by my old, script-happy doctor. I only say script-happy because he would only inspect me for two minutes tops while simultaneously shooting questions in rapid succession, before whipping up a few scripts for whatever this and that might be.

"If this doesn't work, then this will," he would say with confidence. I have to say, it was a nice arrangement.

Astelin. After going through what I had in my medicine cabinet, most of which are about to expire, I found Astelin that's good until this coming August. I remember the stuff. He described it as Liquid Claritin. 'It tastes like it too,' I remember thinking the first time it dripped from my nasal cavity to the back of my throat.

I took two sprays in each nostril and the first thing I did was gag. It was that awful. The next thing I did was take a nap with the bitter taste still in my mouth. After waking up though, I think I was alright—save for being a little extra dull and slow-witted. But I believe that's a fair trade-off for being allergy-free.

·

Crap. In my eagerness to finish our Reverse-Ambler route in record time, I took on The Second Hill and found myself riding on stripped asphalt for a good chunk of time. I should've known better.

·

Anyone ever accidentally type in booble into the location bar?

·

In just several days, the foliage went from non-existent to over-bearingly lush. It's like I stumbled into—rather, rode through—the muggy woods of the Lords of the Rings trilogy (sorry, only reference that came to mind). It's hard to imagine that the greenery is just halfway there; the trees still need to fill out and form a canopy that covers every friggin' thing.

So much growth in every direction, no wonder my allergies are out of control. I've become a useless, sneezing, itching, weeping version of my winter self.

But it's almost comforting to see that my body reacts to the change of the season. It helps me realize that I'm still part of it all: mother nature, the filial bond between all living things, and the rest of that crap. Most of the time, I'm frustrated by allergy season. Most of the time I just want prescription-strength relief from the symptoms that come with spring. But right now I'm kinda digging what Andre Gregory had to say for two whole hours.

I'm still not giving up central air though.

····

If I get slapped in the face by a bug one more time, I'm turning around and heading home.

·

I had the chance to take out the new steel frame. Well, it's not so much new, but rather repainted and rebuilt. I guess you can think of it as a redesign of a trusty, old rig.

I wasn't quite worried about the fit; I've been hitting it dead-on the last several builds. All it really takes is the geometry from my (first and only) professional fitting and measuring tape. Any further necessary refinements won't manifest itself during the first couple of hours riding. And besides, I rode this bike all last year; I should know it pretty well.

My immediate concern were the kinks that come with a fresh rebuild: components settling, cables stretching, that kind of stuff. After two hours it turns out to be a solid build. Well... unless you count the time I got on and the handlebars rotated all the way down. I guess I forgot to torque that one down.

····

I was afraid that I just wouldn't enjoy this bike now that I've been riding a full carbon bike. I liken moment I got on the R2 to an epiphany. Carbon is faster, climbs better, and—most importantly—is more efficient. Side by side you would think the performance difference is negligible, but at the end of a three hour ride the R2 is still fresh when the other bike feels so tired. On today's ride I made sure to avoid the steel bike's obvious weakness: the third hour.

Forget the typical differences between carbon and steel. While this bike is heavier by three pounds, it's still in the realm of light bikes. I'd like to think of it as three more pounds of descending weight rather than three more pounds of awkwardness to manage up the staircase. Sure, it's a little bit flexier, but I won't lose a circuit race just because of that. And the handling is almost identical. The big difference between the two is that the steel bike trumps the other in less than ideal terrain.

I didn't realize I've been avoiding rough patches of road the past couple of months. This frame, perhaps by design, is so compliant that you can roll through any questionable sections of the pavement; your tires will never leave the ground. The R2 on the other hand is so stiff that it tends to skip over rough areas; not very good for traction in corners, a little scary on descents. On today's ride, in every single instance I would've tapped the brakes on the carbon bike, I bombed right through with the steel. I even raised my tire pressure by 10 PSI.

So which bike is better? I think overall, the carbon bike is the better race bike. But which one will I ride more often? I dunno just yet, I guess I'll keep a running tally this year.

·

Instead of getting smaller, my canker sore got even larger and all the more painful. Brushing my teeth has become a tense endeavor prone to sudden, blinding jolts of pain. Salty food brings about tears normally reserved for an overdose of wasabi paste.

Worse—or better yet, depending on your frame of mind... I was sitting at an intersection, attempting to drink a steaming cup of coffee. My head was tilted, as I was sipping from the corner of my mouth farthest from the sore, when I felt eyes on me. A sedan had crept up alongside the car. I turned to see a teen-aged girl plastered against the passenger-side window watching me incredulously. She didn't flinch in the short moment I held her stare; I conceded and turned away. The light was green anyway.

It dawned on me that I was caught drinking like a pirate, or at least they way I imagine them to; drinking a bottle of rum from one side of their mouth as they curse from the other. I felt silly. Not that it matters, there's no way to universally communicate it's just a canker sore through two car windows.

Needless to say, from that point on I looked before I sipped. Yar.

·

I suppose I ought to cut the deli across the street some slack. As dicey as the place is, they are stepping up to the Pennsylvania Man by selling beer by the six-pack. That's unheard of around here. They even have Guinness.

And you can say the corner store has it's own unique brand of charm. It's not everywhere that you'll find the oven cleaner displayed right next to loaves of stale Holsum bread, which in turn sits next to the motor oil.

·

A blue Corolla crept up to us in the opposing lane. A guy I've never seen before popped his head out and waved, "Are you at the beginning of the ride or at the end of a ride?"

"Beginning," I responded as we passed him.

"Good luck down there!" he yelled behind our backs.

"Okay, thanks!" I replied, turning to face him as best as I could.

I thought about the cryptic encounter. Was down there the path? Maybe there's a lot of traffic down there? Perhaps a century? or a run? or worse, a walk? Who knew.

By the time we made it to the path, I've forgotten all about the driver. For a while the sun was doing intervals on us; 3 minutes at zone 5, 3 minutes recovery. I couldn't make up my mind whether I should pull off the arm warmers or keep 'em on.

And then the storm clouds rolled in. And then drizzle and then rain. Maybe this is what he meant. Perhaps he had the wisdom to foretell what Weather.com could not... Nah.

·

Impulse purchase at Trader Joe's. I was famished, so I made a quick trip to the snack aisle while the Tamster waited in line. I've been working on raising my high-density lipoproteins, so I scanned through their large selection of trail mix. I was looking for a blend with cashews and walnuts, something more interesting than just peanuts; but at the last moment a more colorful blend with M&Ms caught my eye.

In the car, I was disappointed to find out that the nuts—mostly peanuts—were unsalted and therefore bland. I ended up picking on the M&Ms. I should've just looked for a bag of M&Ms, screw my HDL.

·

Today was one of those rides where I stayed well below zone 2, and instead of breathing hard I kept my mouth closed and played with an open sore behind my lower lip.

·

There was a rider on the side of the road struggling with his tire. It's common courtesy to offer road-side assistance, so I took the pace down a notch.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

Blank stare.

"Do you need any help?" I rephrased the question, coming to a stop.

Another blank stare... and then "Come on!" he yelled, infuriated. "Come on! I've been riding longer than you've been alive!"

In an instant my blood came to a sudden boil, but all I could do was apologize, "Well I'm sorry I asked."

"Don't ask!"

And with that, I motored. I took note of his red and yellow kit. I took note of his gear. I took note of his gay-ass, white goatee. Anyone with any of those things is no friend of mine. Fucking asshole.

····

Come to think of it, the blank stares might've been angry glares; but I just couldn't tell from behind his riding glasses.

····

Later on in the ride at the onset of dusk, I found a woman in full kit lugging a Ciocc on her shoulder a la cross. Normally I would've instantly offered a hand; but in light of the earlier altercation, I hesitated long enough to miss my chance. I guess I just paid it forward.

·

Preparing for his move back to Milwaukee, George left us some dishes, some cups, a case of beer, a pair of frozen burritos, six salmon fillets from his wedding, and three cuts of beef.

"Do you want a rug? How about an end table with a loose leg?"

Before unloading the stuff at my place, we tried to install a dashboard compass I gave him for his birthday. Unfortunately, his car gives off a magnetic field. The only spot it gave an accurate reading was out the window; anywhere else inside the car caused the device to point south.

"Well, everything's just going south for me," George said.

Funny.

·

"I have to say this is the best Mexican food I have had in a long time," George announced to the unsuspecting waitress. She smiled and made a short reply which I didn't hear.

"Don't mind our friend, he likes to complain," I butted in. I'm not sure if she knew I was being facetious.

The truth is I have to agree. At first I was disappointed because they didn't have steak tacos on the menu, or even carne asada for that matter. But the place is classier than that; what they lacked in traditional dishes they made up for in creative, contemporary offerings.

Everything on the menu sounded delicious so as usual I ordered last and ordered whatever caught my eye at the last moment. Much like that game show Press Your Luck. I ended up with a filet mignon dressed with cumin. It was awesome. It was perfect.

The bestest part? Since this restaurant has yet to obtain its liquor license, they serve margaritas for free. Strong ones too.

·

According to The Box, there's a chance I'd have to pay the City of Philadelphia an under-payment penalty. I'm not sure what that means, but let's hope that I can just write them a $4 check for the city tax I owe and that it's the end of that.

·

We had planned on taking Tammie's folks for a stroll around mid-town; but after cheesesteaks from Jim's, ice cream from Häagen-Dazs, and coffee from Starbucks (the local cafe was closed), the group was content doing a rolling tour instead.

·

In the fifteen minutes I stood in line, I just managed to move up from the stairs to the upper lobby where a line of forty or so white-haired men snaked its way to the restroom. 'This is hopeless,' I sighed, and gave up my position in the queue to make my way back to our seats.

Come to think of it... what did I expect? I mean, this is the intermission between Average White Band and Tower of Power. Most of the crowd were well into their bladder-challenged years.

·

"Wow! This is light," the post office lady observed, surprised by the weightlessness of the large box I came to retrieve.

I offered a smile but held my tongue. It took every bit of reserve not to announce 'Why yes, it's a road bike frame,' or worse 'It's carbon fiber,' or worse yet 'It's only 950 grams.' I had to remind myself that the comment came from an elderly woman handing me a parcel, not a fellow roadie handling my bike.

Instead I gave my thanks and walked away, content knowing she has no idea what kind of a dork I can be.

·

Spring is in the air. I can feel it in the scratch of my throat and in the itch of my eyes.

·

To both my joy and dismay, I discovered that flatware are excellent objects for my Dremel obsession.

·

Looking at the network programming schedule, this April Sweeps is going to be monumentally bland. We have the Writers Guild of America to thank for that.

····

Finished the first season of Heroes. It started off a little boring, got pretty interesting, then topped itself off with a rather anti-climactic season finale. I didn't watch the entire series on the trainer as I had originally planned; but what can I say? It got nice out.

····

We're two episodes from finishing the first season of Lost. I love how the series tends to abandon major plot lines. Like, whatever ever happened to that thing in the woods? No, don't tell me.

·

Closing down Cresheim Valley Drive has turned our neighborhood into one giant, rush-hour bottleneck. In the past few days we've tried a few different ways around; each one worse than the last. We might have to resort to leaving a little bit earlier.

·

Mutter Museum, Philadelphia—I can understand a fascination with mummified corpses, gangrened appendages, cross-sectioned heads, and preserved conjoined fetuses (feti?). That's just typical of grotesque curiosities.

But an obsessively comprehensive collection of objects that people have choked to death on? That's disturbing.

·

In a few hours I'll have to read for George and Debbie's wedding ceremony. I'll have to do it before close to a hundred people. I'll have to do it without a microphone.

I'm more than a little nervous about this; I'm not much of a public speaker, and—worse yet—I have a genuine phobia of public reading. In high school I often found myself nervously laughing in front of class, unable to finish a simple textbook reading.

"You'll do fine," George said a few weeks ago.

But then just a few days ago that, he asked "Are you going to be okay doing this? Do I need to get someone else?"

Doesn't boost confidence much, does it.

·

Pantpantpantpantpant...

Crap. I can't even remember the last time I had to run to catch a train.

·

A distant memory from Madison, Wisconsin that somehow managed to creep up and make me smile:

"Four Star Video Heaven, this is God," I greeted. I think I was bored.

"Ha!" exclaimed handset. The flabbergasted caller turned out to be Jerry, our Mennonite store manager. He asked to be transferred to the back room, and I thought that was that until he sat me down a few days later. He explained that he spent a long time thinking it over and that I was that close to getting fired for impersonating God.

I remember being caught off guard by the severity of his reaction. I mean, c'mon—the store is called Four Star Video Heaven.

·

I started painting again.

It's been about a decade since I held a brush, give or take, but it's like I haven't skipped a beat. The sensations were so familiar; the knife against the palette, the bristle on the canvas, the oil getting dangerously thick. I painted in normal clothes and didn't get a drop on me, just like I used to. I didn't realize how much I've been missing this.

I partitioned the bike room to add a painting studio (and a Dremel station, but that's another story). It's set up just like I used to have it: brushes behind the medium, medium behind the pallet, pallet beside the canvas. Except everything is on the left-hand side now—that bothers me a little.

I had to cut-off the butt-end of the tubes because most of my oil paints have dried—the caps just wouldn't twist off. It's been a decade; I'm actually surprised it didn't solidify completely.

····

Ten years ago I sold Brian Bartels a painting titled Quitter. He paid $200 for it. That was a lot of money back then, but he was convinced it would be worth more one day. Taking the roll of tips (Bartels was a bartender) I smiled and thought to myself, 'You know, there's a reason it's called Quitter.'

····

Last night we made plans to meet George at The Happy Rooster. We made it to the area on time, but parking cost us another ten minutes—each meter we found turned out to be out-of-order. Leaving the third spot, we agreed on just paying the premium and driving up to the closest lot.

"We're closed," the attendant announced without a hint of emotion or courtesy.

Yeah. Just our luck.

·

In the spirit of the

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