After our bikey ride on Sunday, we went down to the beach and sat on the point in the shade of the cliffs. As the sun disappeared behind us, the sand cooled beneath our feets, the water went splish splash, and the hint of an on-shore breeze cooled the air. Air Conditioning.

We brought the longboard along, because it's nice to get wet on a hot day, not because there were really any waves.

We call it the USS Ronald Reagan.

It's very,






very long.


Thursday Morning Ride: Live Report

Wednesday, 8.00 pm: Yeah, sure, the 8.00 am RoCo ride. I'll so be there. See ya tomorrow.

Thursday, 7.56 am: Jen, sitting on the couch, sipping an espresso. Because 8.00 am is far, far, too early. Uncivilized.

9.15 am: Roll out the door. 10.00 am is too late, 8.00 is too early, but 9.00? 9.00 am is just about right.

Pedal, pedal, pedal. Stoplight. Pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal.

9.35 am: Look, there's Meh-wee-uhn!


Pedal, pedal. Suweet, now I'm not a total loser friend for slacking on the 8.00 am. And I don't have to ride all by my silly self. I can ride with my silly self and Meh-wee-uhn's silly self. Two silly selves are definitely better than one.

Life is good.

Pedal, pedal, pedal. Good thing I didn't want to go surfing today. NeverBetter is bring your rubber ducky splish splash in the bathtub flat. Pedal, pedal, pedal.

9.45 am: KABAM! Spontaneous tubey combustion. At least it wasn't a slime tubey. (There's a story for another day...)

This event caused much headscratching. Like um, how the heck did that happen? Several offers of assistance from passersby were made. We thanked them nicely, because we're always nice.

Meh-wee-uhn goes to work with the tire levers and such.

9.48 am: Problem. Short stem tube, deep-dish wheel.

What to do.

Jen: I think I have a long-stem tubey. Jen digs in seat pack, spewing contents all over. Oh, crap, it's actually a short stem. But look, there's a long stem on my rear wheel.


Tube swappage commences. My long stem for her short stem. Then we pumped both our tires back up. Actually, I used a CO2. Cuz I'm lazy that way.

Pedal, pedal, pedal.

10.15 am: A few small hills appear. We climb them.

Meh-wee-uhn tries to eat and climb with mixed success. We compare Gu to any number of nasty, unmentionable substances. I think I may never eat it again, actually. I tell a lame story about eating Japanese food at an interview in British Columbia. I behaved. The interviewing committee? Not so much.

10.45 am: Gosling crossing. A pair of leetle yellow goslings crosses the bike path. Mama Goose sticks out her pink tongue at us. And hisses. Nice goosey goose, very nice goosey goose, we're like so out of here right now.

11.00 am: Meh-wee-uhn looks for the downhill lines on the UCSB bike path. No skin was lost in this adventure.
Jen makes a dicey pass by a stu rocking the cruiser no hands stylie. Do not try this at home.

11.05 am: Detailed discussion of favorite donuts ensues, a sure sign that someone is bonking. Powdered sugar scores high. So does frosted with sprinkles. Mmmm, dooonuts. What's sugar made out of?

11.20 am: Safe and sound on Cannon Green. What the hell is a Cannon Green anyway?

Meh-wee-uhn waxes philosophical: You see, I think you need to have a fluid ego construction to survive bike racing. I mean, fluid, like an amoeba. My ego is an amoeba.

Meh-wee-uhn stops to think, looking perplexed: An amoeba. So what's my psuedopod?

Jen laughs too hard to steer bike. Really, I think she should come with a warning label. Maybe we could plaster it across the back of her helmet? Think of the children.

11.30 am: Meh-wee-uhn goes in search of lunch. Jen continues pedaling. Things become less funny.

Pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal. TAILWIND! Wheeee! Pedal, pedal, pedal.

12.00 pm: Weather's getting warmer. Jen looks for more pockets. Where do they go? Stuffs vest up jersey. Does best camel imitation.

Avoids eating Gu packet. So totally ruined. ForEVAH.

Swoops down descent, checks surf at Burrito. Not even an itty-bitty bit of windswell. Sigh.

Pedal, pedal, pedal. Why'd they put this climb here? Sigh, again. Pedal, pedal, pedal.

12.30 pm: Jen arrives home, dumps pockets on floor. Searches kitchen for donuts.

Finds blueberry poptarts instead. Frosted. With sprinkles.

Life is good.


Poo' Talk

Dude: How many meters did you do?

Me, thinking: Uh... are you hitting on me?

True confessions? I really wasn't counting. I did some swimmy swim, then some kicky kick, then some sprinty sprint. It was fun and splashy and sunshiney. Maybe I got a little tan.

How many? Some.

B'sides, I already got a hot date tonight for some bikey riding.

And um, yes, I'm like married and stuff.


April Flowers

Just a leetle Monday project.

And yes, in case you were wondering, the trip home is all uphill.

So, um, like do I get credit for training and stuff? Ruling? Sigh, I didn't think so.

For added entertainment the Green Beast - which is a 5 speed Schwinn - pulls to the right, thanks to a bendy in the framey. The basket could fit a small child and weighs about as much. Cornering is muy, muy, interesting, to say the least.

Mmmkay, now I gotta go plant 'em.


Not an Angry Girl

Clicky the piccy to make it go. (The embed thingy is brokey.)

Ani D played at the very stodgy theater downtown where Cultural Events take place.

Oddly, they once booked X at this very same venue.

Damage occurred. Uproar roared up.

Who books a punk band to a theater with velvet seats and chandeliers? And columns. The place has columns. Like some sort of Greek mausoleum. Fuck the Patriarchy.
I think I saw the columns shudder.

Ani rocked it hard. So it was all good. And since St. Babs is a small town, the theater for Culture is very very small. You can't have the plebes getting too much Culture or anything. We had like sixth row seats. Ani said she was scared of farting. Cuz we were really, really close.

Final score: One tranny got (almost) naked. No velvet seats torn.

And no, I haven't seen Flanders yet. Cuz I just got the download. So can't wait!