Archive for the ‘Injury’ Category

There is no slow lane on the road to Hell

October 26, 2018

This sort of nonsense is on a par with descending a ladder made of razor wire and Ginsu knives.

“Thank God it’s Friday,” you say? Not so fast, Sparky. Just when you thought things were winding down, turns out I’ve been winding up another episode of Radio Free Dogpatch.

This one has its roots in a New Yorker essay I read about a risk-management program gone all pear-shaped. The author, neuroscientist Daniel J. Levitin, like me an elder of the geezer persuasion, did himself an injury while test-driving an escape ladder and afterward mused at length on the vicissitudes of the calendar, caution, calamity, and consequences.

I had recently been on a ladder myself — not a cheapo folding one, and not dangling from a third story — but happily I made it back to earth without burning up on re-entry.

I can’t say I enjoyed the experience, but if need arose I’d probably do it again, my guiding principle being, “I knew it was wrong but I did it anyway.” This is why, like Levitin, I have spent some time enduring the tender mercies of the medical-industrial complex.

As Roy Blount Jr. has taught us, fucking up is not what it used to be. That was the lede, word for word, to his essay “I Always Plead Guilty,” from the 1984 collection “What Men Don’t Tell Women,” and it’s a lot funnier than Levitin’s New Yorker essay or even this episode of Radio Free Dogpatch.

Blount wrote it in an era not unlike today, in a nation “where major corporations are in charge and there is absolutely no charm left in fucking up.”

Nevertheless, he argued, fucking up is a very American thing — “going into the unknown for the challenge of it” — and urged that we find some middle ground between caution and catastrophe, asking:

“Why do we have to draw back so far from the abyss?”

So, yeah. Read the essay, buy the book, and lend a ragged ear to the latest episode of Radio Free Dogpatch.

• Technical notes: This episode was recorded using an Audio-Technica ATR2100-USB microphone and a Zoom H5 Handy Recorder. I edited the audio on a late-2009 iMac using Apple’s GarageBand. The sound effects are from Freesound, and the blues loop playing in the background is from fredsonic at Freesound.

Don’t forget to put roses on my grave

October 28, 2017

This may be the last rose of the season. But this being Albuquerque, quién sabe?

Some of you may be secretly pleased to learn that after I got all smug about our lovely fall weather I managed to tweak my back just enough to curtail my enjoyment of the extended cycling season.

It’s an old problem that makes an occasional painful comeback, like herpes, malaria or the Republican Party. And it taught me the only thing I really learned in college: When delivering refrigerators for beer money, lift with your legs.

Anyway, from time to time some small movement not involving the relocation of refrigerators triggers a back spasm, and while this one is not as bad as some, it’s bad enough to keep me off the bike this afternoon.

I’m not in my basement room, with a needle and a spoon. But I did munch a little Advil to take my pain away.

 

Hi-def’, where is thy sting?

October 8, 2013
I had a little fun shooting the video of the Jones bike. There's plenty of room for gadgetry on that 66cm H-bar; I was going to add a flower vase, but ran out of hose clamps.

I had a little fun shooting the video of the Jones bike. There’s plenty of room for gadgetry on that 66cm H-bar; I was going to add a flower vase, but ran out of hose clamps.

In comments, Patrick O’B. asks whether I’m having trouble deciding which bike to ride since adding a nifty Jones rigid-specific 29er to the Mad Dog fleet.

Nope.

I haven’t been on a bike of any type for a week — a terrorist wasp nailed me in my left ankle during a hike last Wednesday, the sonofabitch swelled up to the size and shade of a ruby-red Texas grapefruit (the ankle, not the terrorist wasp), and I have whiled away the hours since full of Benadryl and bad ideas, trying to get a metric shit-ton of work done with my shoeless left leg propped up on a box.

And the weather has been picture-postcard, Chamber of Commerce, fall-in-Colorado perfect, too.

Gah.

The Co-Motion Divide Rohloff got its closeup today.

The Co-Motion Divide Rohloff got its closeup today.

I did get out for a short while today. The ankle looks more or less like an ankle again, rather than a botulistic bratwurst, and I needed to shoot a bit of HD video for an online review of the Co-Motion Divide Rohloff, having just wrapped production on a Jones video. So I spazzed around in Palmer Park for an hour, playing Quentin Ferrentino with a couple of dusty old Hero 3 Black Editions.

The Adventure Cyclist gang and I met with the GoPro people at Interbike, but only editor Mike Deme walked away with one of the new Hero 3+ dinguses, though I thought I batted my eyelashes most fetchingly at the product guy. Bitch.

So I had to make do with obsolete technology in my latest projects, and as usual it is the little people — you, the viewing public — who must suffer.

Still, that makes two videos in two days. Stick that in your hobbit-pipe and smoke it, Peter Jackson.

You can’t spell ‘news’ without ‘ew’

February 9, 2013
Mister Boo post-cleansing.

Mister Boo post-cleansing.

Trying to keep abreast of the news lately is like following the Budweiser Clydesdales around with a demitasse spoon and a lace napkin. Some days there’s just too much shit for one guy to shovel.

For example, this is not the first time I’m glad I don’t live in Boston.

Also, Los Angeles.

Some buttmunch (or more likely, buttmunches) stole a quarter-million euros worth of bikes and gear from a Garmin-Sharp truck parked outside the team’s hotel, putting them out of the Tour Méditerranéen.

Say it ain’t so, Cipo’.

Is that a drone in your pocket, or are you just unhappy to see me?

And so on, and so forth, etc.

Meanwhile, I have a bum knee that apparently requires physical therapy — always good news for a fella who makes his marginal living in the bike biz — and Mister Boo had to endure a bath, a nail-clipping and the expression of his anal glands this morning. So we’re all a little irritable around the DogHaus today.

How’s tricks with you? Speak up in comments.

Occupy Office Chair

October 16, 2011
Turkish basks in the afternoon sun

Dr. Turkenstein, I presume?

I’m really starting to hate Sundays. It’s like someone docks a Waste Management truck to my office window and offloads a metric ton of moldy corn dogs, crushed Grain Belt cans and elephant shit from the Iowa GOP caucuses into my iMac.

I clocked in at 7 a.m., just in time for the first lap of the men’s World Cup opener in Pilsen, and I didn’t really find the bottom of the VeloPile until about 4 p.m. Pee-yew. There’s more to be done, of course, but it never found its way to me and thus has become someone else’s problem.

Doesn’t help that I’ve somehow managed to throw out my back again, which adds personal injury to professional insult. Sending two Tylenol Extra Strength tabs after that old refrigerator-delivery injury was like pitting a Boston cream pie against Rosie O’Donnell, without the potentially funny bits.

Happily, as I do my part to help smash the State through Occupy Office Chair I’ve gotten some top-notch attention from Dr. Turkenstein, though I note he is prone to wistful window-gazing. And no black-glove coppers have pepper-sprayed me yet, so I’ve got that going for me.