I’ve been playing around with a couple of tools I found on John Nack’s blog the last few days. Both are physics based drawing tools.

The first is called Phun. It was developed for Umeå University’s (Sweden) new science center and uses an Illustrator type menu. You draw 2D objects that interact in a gravity and physics based fashion. It gives quite a bit of control over the environment and is quite addicting. I’ve probably spent more time than I should tinkering around with it all.

The second is very similar, except it is goal oriented. You draw objects to help your character (a ball) reach the star on screen. It is called Crayon Physics Deluxe.

Note to self: Buy Wacom tablet….

A few weeks ago on a training ride I was asked how I liked a pair of knickers that I was wearing. He commented on the fact that they still look new even though I got them a year ago. It got me thinking about how well they have lasted the abuse that I’ve put them through.

Almost every day over the last year, I have commuted with the same pair of Chrome Shins. They were on both days of the Seattle to Portland last year. They have withstood countless wet rides, even a bit of snow. They hide my ass crack and the fact that I may or may not be wearing lycra. They are pretty damn good to look at.

Last year I took a face plant when my front wheel decided to stop spinning. My fork bent, my glasses busted, and blood was streaming down my face. The pants were fine (although they needed a wash).

Doubled with a thermal under layer, I’ve cycled at 6am with as low as 20 degree temperatures. They handle the weather here perfectly.

The material used in the knicker is stretchy to deflect all of the “where is the flood?” questions thrown by coworkers. The flood is at your mom’s house gentlemen… at your mom’s house.

It is funny to look back on how much we cringed at the $100+ price tag. The pants have been an amazing workhorse.

“Where you guys headed?”

I think, “Are you serious?” We have a rack full of bikes and we are all in tights and caps with short brims. We are obviously going to set some wildfires and tag on some buildings.

That was the start of my first speeding ticket ever. 75 in a 60. In California, 75 barely gets you on to the freeway. Up this way, I am a speed demon.

Yesterday’s SIR training ride was incredible (and epic and beautiful and any other big ride labels you want to slap on to it). We rode about 85 miles from Conway to Bellingham and back in a giant loop of the northern position of Washington. It started with a series of steady climbs to get out of the valley we started in. We went through a series of farm lands and small towns, riding by Big Lake and Clear Lake. The weather was supposed to be overcast with a slim chance of rain, but we ended up with the most beautiful sunny day possible.

The most incredible part of the ride though, was the loop up around Bellingham. It stared with a lot of climbing, but it brought us up to amazing views of the Puget Sound. All of the islands were visible, including Orcas. It swept back down to sea level and we kept a nice and steady pace.

We fought some head and cross winds through the flat farm country, but were lucky enough to catch up to a group of 10-15 for the last 15 miles. It was amazing timing because my legs were on their last…. leg. They were kind enough to block the wind for the remainder of the ride.

Once back in Conway, we bought ice cream and teriyaki at the Texaco(?!). That store had a little bit of everything. Peter McKay joked with us, “Do you guys just do these rides for the food.”

Of course we do Peter.

All around wonderful weekend.

Thanks to Matt for letting me hang on his wheel Saturday. Thanks to Norman for the great meal and company Sunday.

Yesterday was the bi-yearly check up with Dr. Goodman in which I get a full Pet/CT scan. I see him every three months, and do the scan every other visit. I’ve been becoming a hypochondriac over the last few weeks. My breathing feels funny and I have a pain here or there. Maybe my urine is a little bit “off” color-wise. Another wards, I’ve just been overly paranoid over nothing. I won’t vocalize this because I don’t want to worry anyone, especially since I know in my head that I’m fine. Regardless, I was a bit nervous going in for the exam.

The Pet/CT scan process is as intrusive on my life as possible. I’m not allowed to exercise (read: bicycle) for a few days leading up to the date. I am forced to drive myself in to work and end up groggy all day because the coffee doesn’t wake me up as well as the ride does.

The day before the visit I need to cut back on (read: completely stop) eating sugars and carbohydrates. Sugars I can live without, but carbs are basically a staple in my diet these days. Jane made me a huge bowl of eggs and sausage for dinner that night though. It was amazing.

The morning of the exam I can’t eat or drink anything, except water for medication (which I am not on, thankfully). I always seem to end up with appointments well into the day. This time I was stuck with an 11am start. That basically means that I’m not going to be eating anything until at least 1pm. My stomach gets mighty angry at me with a schedule like that.

The first part of the process involves being pulled into a secluded room that is usually no warmer than 60°F. They give me warm blankets that reach from my feet to the middle of my chest, or from my chin to my ankles, depending on positioning. I make sure to stock up on those and lay back in the chair. I get a fresh IV stuck into the same arm that gave blood a little while ago and am told to try not to move. If I move, the bogeyman will find me… or the IV might pop out. Both scenarios are disturbing.

With the other arm, I am asked to drink a “cherry” flavored contrast that will help them read the scans with better clarity. The drink takes a lot like Kirkland brand Vita-Rain vitamin waters. Maybe they are just re branding it for the public.

I have to lay there for an hour, moving as little as possible. If I am too active, my muscles will soak in the contrast and give confusing readings. The last thing I want is any confusion at this stage in the game so I do my best Bela Lugosi impression.

Once the hour is up, I am pulled into a room with a large, claustrophobic machine. After taking all of the metal out of my head, I lay down on a hard table that feeds me into the machine. The catch is that I have to hold my arms above my head so I feel as unnatural as possible for the duration of the 30(!) minutes that it takes to scan me. My arms are in a position such that my shoulder blades are digging in to the table and I’m never really comfortable.

The machine pulls the table back and forth very slowly for the PET part of the scan. There are cameras spinning around you making loud clunking sounds occasionally. After about 5 minutes my arms go numb. This isn’t a problem until I need to pick them back up.

After 20 minutes, I do the CT portion of the scan. They inject a substance into my IV that makes my entire body very warm. In fact, my crotch gets so warm that it feels almost like I am going to the bathroom on the table. I hold my breath for 10 to 15 seconds at a time while the machine whirls and chugs. Supposedly about 1,800 photos are taken of my chest area during the whole scan. Everything winds down and they finally let me move my arms.

I am happy to say that I am still cancer free.

I sure do whine a lot on this thing.

Yesterday was the bi-yearly check up with Dr. Goodman in which I get a full Pet/CT scan. I see him every three months, and do the scan every other visit. I’ve been becoming a hypochondriac over the last few weeks. My breathing feels funny and I have a pain here or there. Maybe my urine is a little bit “off” color-wise. Another wards, I’ve just been overly paranoid over nothing. I won’t vocalize this because I don’t want to worry anyone, especially since I know in my head that I’m fine. Regardless, I was a bit nervous going in for the exam.

The Pet/CT scan process is as intrusive on my life as possible. I’m not allowed to exercise (read: bicycle) for a few days leading up to the date. I am forced to drive myself in to work and end up groggy all day because the coffee doesn’t wake me up as well as the ride does.

The day before the visit I need to cut back on (read: completely stop) eating sugars and carbohydrates. Sugars I can live without, but carbs are basically a staple in my diet these days. Jane made me a huge bowl of eggs and sausage for dinner that night though. It was amazing.

The morning of the exam I can’t eat or drink anything, except water for medication (which I am not on, thankfully). I always seem to end up with appointments well into the day. This time I was stuck with an 11am start. That basically means that I’m not going to be eating anything until at least 1pm. My stomach gets mighty angry at me with a schedule like that.

The first part of the process involves being pulled into a secluded room that is usually no warmer than 60°F. They give me warm blankets that reach from my feet to the middle of my chest, or from my chin to my ankles, depending on positioning. I make sure to stock up on those and lay back in the chair. I get a fresh IV stuck into the same arm that gave blood a little while ago and am told to try not to move. If I move, the bogeyman will find me… or the IV might pop out. Both scenarios are disturbing.

With the other arm, I am asked to drink a “cherry” flavored contrast that will help them read the scans with better clarity. The drink takes a lot like Kirkland brand Vita-Rain vitamin waters. Maybe they are just re branding it for the public.

I have to lay there for an hour, moving as little as possible. If I am too active, my muscles will soak in the contrast and give confusing readings. The last thing I want is any confusion at this stage in the game so I do my best Bela Lugosi impression.

Once the hour is up, I am pulled into a room with a large, claustrophobic machine. After taking all of the metal out of my head, I lay down on a hard table that feeds me into the machine. The catch is that I have to hold my arms above my head so I feel as unnatural as possible for the duration of the 30(!) minutes that it takes to scan me. My arms are in a position such that my shoulder blades are digging in to the table and I’m never really comfortable.

The machine pulls the table back and forth very slowly for the PET part of the scan. There are cameras spinning around you making loud clunking sounds occasionally. After about 5 minutes my arms go numb. This isn’t a problem until I need to pick them back up.

After 20 minutes, I do the CT portion of the scan. They inject a substance into my IV that makes my entire body very warm. In fact, my crotch gets so warm that it feels almost like I am going to the bathroom on the table. I hold my breath for 10 to 15 seconds at a time while the machine whirls and chugs. Supposedly about 1,800 photos are taken of my chest area during the whole scan. Everything winds down and they finally let me move my arms.

I am happy to say that I am still cancer free.

I sure do whine a lot on this thing.

Yesterday was the bi-yearly check up with Dr. Goodman in which I get a full Pet/CT scan. I see him every three months, and do the scan every other visit. I’ve been becoming a hypochondriac over the last few weeks. My breathing feels funny and I have a pain here or there. Maybe my urine is a little bit “off” color-wise. Another wards, I’ve just been overly paranoid over nothing. I won’t vocalize this because I don’t want to worry anyone, especially since I know in my head that I’m fine. Regardless, I was a bit nervous going in for the exam.

The Pet/CT scan process is as intrusive on my life as possible. I’m not allowed to exercise (read: bicycle) for a few days leading up to the date. I am forced to drive myself in to work and end up groggy all day because the coffee doesn’t wake me up as well as the ride does.

The day before the visit I need to cut back on (read: completely stop) eating sugars and carbohydrates. Sugars I can live without, but carbs are basically a staple in my diet these days. Jane made me a huge bowl of eggs and sausage for dinner that night though. It was amazing.

The morning of the exam I can’t eat or drink anything, except water for medication (which I am not on, thankfully). I always seem to end up with appointments well into the day. This time I was stuck with an 11am start. That basically means that I’m not going to be eating anything until at least 1pm. My stomach gets mighty angry at me with a schedule like that.

The first part of the process involves being pulled into a secluded room that is usually no warmer than 60°F. They give me warm blankets that reach from my feet to the middle of my chest, or from my chin to my ankles, depending on positioning. I make sure to stock up on those and lay back in the chair. I get a fresh IV stuck into the same arm that gave blood a little while ago and am told to try not to move. If I move, the bogeyman will find me… or the IV might pop out. Both scenarios are disturbing.

With the other arm, I am asked to drink a “cherry” flavored contrast that will help them read the scans with better clarity. The drink takes a lot like Kirkland brand Vita-Rain vitamin waters. Maybe they are just re branding it for the public.

I have to lay there for an hour, moving as little as possible. If I am too active, my muscles will soak in the contrast and give confusing readings. The last thing I want is any confusion at this stage in the game so I do my best Bela Lugosi impression.

Once the hour is up, I am pulled into a room with a large, claustrophobic machine. After taking all of the metal out of my head, I lay down on a hard table that feeds me into the machine. The catch is that I have to hold my arms above my head so I feel as unnatural as possible for the duration of the 30(!) minutes that it takes to scan me. My arms are in a position such that my shoulder blades are digging in to the table and I’m never really comfortable.

The machine pulls the table back and forth very slowly for the PET part of the scan. There are cameras spinning around you making loud clunking sounds occasionally. After about 5 minutes my arms go numb. This isn’t a problem until I need to pick them back up.

After 20 minutes, I do the CT portion of the scan. They inject a substance into my IV that makes my entire body very warm. In fact, my crotch gets so warm that it feels almost like I am going to the bathroom on the table. I hold my breath for 10 to 15 seconds at a time while the machine whirls and chugs. Supposedly about 1,800 photos are taken of my chest area during the whole scan. Everything winds down and they finally let me move my arms.

I am happy to say that I am still cancer free.

I sure do whine a lot on this thing.

I’ve been messing around with some drawings of bikes from the show. Enjoy.

On Saturday, Jane and I attended the North American Handmade Bicycle Show. I never expect much from these types of convention shows because they always seem to disappoint on some level. Still, I was very excited to check it out and I have to say that it exceeded my expectations.

One of the missions we had going into the show was that I needed to get my business card into the hands of some people in the industry. I think (or at least hope) that the type of art that I do would be a nice fit for a bicycle site, catalog, or instruction manual. I have had to overcome my typical desire to stay low key and be a passive observer. With Jane’s help I was able to get out quite a few cards and got some positive face to face responses. Who knows if anything will come out of it, but it was encouraging regardless.

Cancer was on my mind for some of the show oddly. I over heard some of the representatives for Dario Pergoretti discussing how he is doing with his lymphoma treatments. I butted into the conversation a bit and we were joking about how much stronger the chemo can make you with the proper training. TdF winners will (not) testify to this. Jane and I talked to Matt from Independent Fabrication for a bit about our last couple of years dealing with everything. He mentioned how much cancer has hurt his family recently and we all kind of had an awkward but beautiful moment of silence. He seems like a wonderful guy. The Lance Armstrong Foundation was on hand spreading the message. Jane made me sign a “Survivor” badge that they hung up in the booth.

“He is too modest to admit it himself,” she told them.

I suppose there is some truth in that. You wouldn’t really know it reading here, but I don’t wear it on my sleeve. It has been a long struggle, but it has only made me stronger. I am not embarrassed by it.

I was smart enough to pack the camera this time around (thanks to prodding from Chris and Joby). There were so many beautiful bikes available that I didn’t know where to start. Everything was on display, from track bikes, to city bikes, to amazing randonneuring rigs. Here are a small sample of what I was able to capture. I am not a photographer by any means. Some are blurry, and a number of my shots didn’t come out. None of the Indy Fab bikes are here, but they were beautiful machines. Hopefully you can find pictures of them elsewhere. Anyways, here are a few…
Rando/Touring style


Fixed Gear/Single Speed


Standard and City Bikes


Unusual

Eu·ginger–noun
1. A redhead born in or currently residing in Eugene, OR.
Eu·ge·net·ics–noun
1. The scientific study of the principles of heredity and the variation of inherited traits among related organisms living in Eugene.

Norman, Jane and I took a road trip this weekend to visit our friend Erin and her family. We spent a couple of nights in the college town and I got to experience a bit of the local customs. Here are a couple of noteworthy items.

People: Much to Norman’s approval, there was a high ginger population in the town. It seemed like every time I turned a corner, there was another freckled face tucked behind a Dayglo orange mop top. Nobody was using props to make me laugh.

Since the University is in town, there were plenty of young folks on the streets being hip. I don’t often feel old, but somehow I did.

City: Flat. Smells like patchouli.

Nightlife: We went to the only gay bar in town. Pulled straight from a Twin Peaks set, the bar featured wood logs for seats, private cubby holes that you needed to jump into, and lots of cheetah print. There were a couple of foreign bartenders dancing, clapping randomly, and acting generally like “Two wild and crazy guys”.

“I feel like I’m in Des Moines,” Norman said early into the night.

I’m assuming all of the dance music was from Russia too because we didn’t recognize any of it. The people that were dancing did some sort of hippie gyration that must involve a drug that I’m not about to ingest. It was a cross between rave and interpretive dance. If it wasn’t so scary it would have been pretty funny.

Bicycles: The true test of how nice a city is. I was pleased to find that Eugene is (much like the rest of Oregon) very bicycle friendly. In fact, it is almost disturbing just how bike friendly it is. All of the lanes have big wide bike lanes and plenty of lights. I was told that drivers are 100% at fault for accidents in town too. I haven’t done the research on that, but it wouldn’t surprise me at bit. With all of the shoulders and bike awareness, I would assume that people would be comfortable riding in the street. No, most of the traffic was on the sidewalk trying to run us down if we didn’t move. Nobody had proper lighting and few had helmets.

That brings us to the bikes themselves. Out of a hundred bicycles, I think that I saw one nice bike. One. There was an old Peugeot that would have passed for nice, but someone vomited a gel seat and flat bars on it. The rest of the bikes were a mix of Frankenstein mountain bikes and beach cruisers. I suppose if I lived in a city that flat I wouldn’t need a bike that went over 8mph either.

Needless to say, we all had a good time. Despite the hatred of my Washington license plates, nobody ran into us.