Wrenching

Gentle Readers .....

I have been remiss in my writing of late.  Truth be told, I had lost my job, and was fully committed to finding  new gig.  This left little time for writing.  After about a month's worth of being unemployed, I was offered a job - a really decent job - and will be starting up there shortly.  We then took a long-overdue trip to visit family in Minnesota, which is where I am as I write this.  Things are settling back to a semblance of normal and I feel like I have the time and energy to write.  So without further gilding of the lily ......

I take care of most of the mechanical needs for our bikes.  I really enjoy the activity and feel like there are a number of benefits.  You save money, become more intimate with the working of a modern bicycle and have a better riding experience overall.  There is also a therapeutic value to the activity.

Bike shops are equipped to handle any problem that may arise with a bicycle, but it comes with a price.  Along with the cost of parts, there are often shop fees associated with the routine maintenance, repairs and upgrades that are part-and-parcel to owning a modern bicycle.  Doing this work yourself saves on shop fees, which can add up quickly and may cost ore than the parts involves.  It also frees you, the consumer, to find the best price you can on the parts you want or need,  So by wrenching your own bike, you can save a bit of money.  For me, She Who Holds The Purse Strings really appreciates this.

It may seem kind of strange to speak of intimacy with a machine, but this is what wrenching your own bike gives you.  After a while, there isn't a single part of your bike that is unfamiliar.  You know very nut, bolt, screw and other bits that are on your bike.  If something is going wrong, or out of adjustment, you know about it long before it becomes a problem.  You also know what needs to be done to fix or correct it.  Oftentimes, this level of intimacy, allows you to correct minor issues as a matter of course.  The bike is almost always in peak condition as a result.

This leads us to the overall experience in riding the bike.  Because you wrench it yourself you are always fully aware of your bike's condition.  As a result of this, you ride with greater confidence in the machine.  You ride without the worry that something may go wrong.  Everything is as it should be, so you can relax and enjoy the ride.

While all that is important, the biggest benefit I get is from the therapeutic value of the activity.  Although my cancer isn't foremost in my mind, it's still a thought that lingers, and there is always frustrations and anxieties that go along with it.  Like anyone else, my life has its share of other stresses which can sometimes weigh heavily on heart and mind.  Being able to take a cup of coffee down to The Shop and tinker with one of our bikes is a remarkable source of relaxation.  It may be a something major, like replacing a part, or readjusting the derailleurs and it may be a simple as cleaning the chain, or just detailing the bike.  Whatever I do leaves me calmer, happier, satisfied and relaxed.  The cares and concerns of the day are suddenly gone.  As Steinbeck said so well (and I paraphrase),......

The world, once again, spins in greased grooves.

So, there's a lot to be said for wrenching your own bike and there's really nothing much to it.  Modern bicycles are relatively simple machines whose workings are easily understood and learned.  You can save a buck or two, be a better cyclist, have a lot more fun and it can even help you feel better.

Feeling better is important.

Sun Spot

Sun Spot and my bike (for scale)

If you ride the Platte River Trail,  there is an interesting statue at 1241 West Bayaud that watches over  people who pass.  It's called "Sun Spot".  Sun Spot is a 20-foot tall likeness of a dog made up of 90,000 stainless steel dog tags (not the military kind).  It was set up in May, 2011 when the new animal shelter opened at the same location.

The artists who created Sun Spot are Laura Haddad and Tom Drugan.

Denver has it's share of monumental statuary scattered about the city.  This one is my favorite.

A slide show of Sun Spot being installed can be found here.

Satisfied: Titanico X

I'd like to do a series of posts where I discuss bike components and kit that I've purchased and am satisfied with.  I am not a paid endorser nor do I have any business relationship with these companies.  I'm just a satisfied customer.

Your bike's most important part is the ass on the saddle.

Anyway, that's what some people say ....

Colorful metaphors aside, a comfortable saddle is more important than anything else on the bike.  This is especially true when you've been riding all day and your butt-cheeks feel like they've been pounded into hamburger. You can be hot, sweaty, thirsty, sunburned, with sore legs and back, but it all pales in comparison to the inhuman torture of a saddle that just ain't right.  As a result, a comfortable saddle is the Holy Grail of cycling.

My quest for the Grail began a few months after bringing my GT home.  It came with a decent saddle, made by a reputable company, but became very uncomfortable after about 20 miles.  I tried the Rule 5 ploy, hoping to get used to it, but my backside just wasn't diggin' the saddle at all.  So, after giving it a good 5 months I decided a different saddle was in order.

Titanico X

I tried several saddles that didn't really feel a whole lot better than what I already had.  Then, I went to a shop to look at a well-known English-made leather saddle, one that everyone raves about, only to find out that it wouldn't work on my bike.  In order to get a proper fit, the saddle needed more setback than the that saddle allowed.  The fitting specialist immediately suggested a different leather saddle that offered considerably more setback and in his opinion, would be even more comfortable than the other saddle.  This saddle was made by an American company, Selle Anatomica, and was called the "Titanico".

I'd never heard of it.

Choice of saddle is a very personal matter.  A saddle that works for one may not work for another.  The shop had a loaner saddle and we mounted to the bike so I could ride it for a weekend and decide for myself.  That decision was not long in coming.  I rode 15 miles after work the next day, and 50 miles over the weekend.  I was amazed at how immediately comfortable the saddle was.  Really, really comfortable.  I was impressed after the first ride, but by the time the weekend was over I was sold.  I ordered a saddle right away.

The new saddle arrived in time for the Denver Century where I'd be riding a Metric Century for the first time.  Ordinarily, you don't use a brand-new piece of equipment on a ride like that, but I felt confident this new saddle would serve well.  It did not disappoint.  It was a brutal day's ride, but at the finish, my butt was the only part of me that didn't hurt.

Since then, I've put a lot of miles on my Titanico.  I love it.  It's proven to be as easy to own, dependable and durable as it is comfortable.

No treatment was or is needed for the Titanico.  No cremes or oils had to applied to the leather.  The laminate, "Watershed" leather was perfect right out of the box and continues to be so. You never have to do a thing to it.  No maintenance is required and that's a good thing in my book.

Although it never required a break-in period as with other leather saddles, mine stretched just a little in the first weeks. Tensioning the saddle was simple - using a tensioning screw in the saddles's nose - and since then has required no further adjustment.  It didn't take long to find the saddles "sweet spot" - in my case just a couple degrees down at the nose.  The saddle has kept that setup and has required no further adjustment.  You can count on the saddle being the same as it was last time you rode it.

Recent picture of my Titanico X

My saddle is amazingly durable.  The rails are strong and support my 200+ pounds very well.  It holds up beautifully - after 6 months it looks every bit as good as it did the day I brought it home. Just recently I rode in a cold, shitty rain for 20 miles and left it uncovered for 1/2 hour with no ill effect.  This is a damned tough saddle.

The saddle is extremely comfortable in all riding positions. The cut-out to prevent perineum numbness works well and doesn't cause any discomfort.  It's still comfortable all day long.


So, I'm extremely satisfied with the Titanico X.  It has proven to be all that was promised and more.  It's a saddle I'd recommend to anyone, anytime.

Road Krill

Several of my regular rides take me along the South Platte River.  There's a nice multi-use trail that follows the river through the city.  It's a nice trail as such things go.  It's wide enough, smooth and scenic.  There are squirrels, deer, herons, eagles, ducks, geese, cormorants, numerous songbirds and, of course, all sorts of different people.  There are people on bikes - Roadies, Hipsters, Cruisers, people on tandems, recumbents, mountain bikes, hybrids, fitness and even the occasional handcycle.  There are people walking, jogging, pushing strollers, with dogs, children and so on.  Quite a menagerie, actually.  All things considered, it's a wonderful trail system.

Except for the Road Krill.

Yes.  Road Krill.

Road Krill

Road Krill is the name I give to the evil clouds of minute insects - midges, gnats, mayflies and so on - that form along the river at various times during the year.  They swarm over the trail in their thousands and are often invisible until the split second before you ride right through them. 

And they are nasty, nasty little fuckers.

All by themselves they are harmless enough.  They don't seem to bite, or anything.  In some cases they don't even have mouth parts (don't ask me why I know this).  In fact, I think the only reason they swarm at all is for mating purposes.

I'll not begrudge them their right to procreate.  I do wish they'd get a room or something.

What makes a Road Krill Encounter so nasty is that you get covered by the little shits.  They get in your hair, they go up your nose, in your ears and in your mouth.  They'll get behind your glasses and fly around and get in your eyes.  It's a fucking nightmare.  You run though a swarm of these evil, nasty, little bastards and you'll want to stop and tear off your own skin with your bare hands.

Some people try to protect themselves - an effort in futility.  One fellow I see regularly, rides along with a bandanna covering his mouth and nose.  In the winter a balaclava can offer a forlorn sense of protection.  Such measures may offer some protection to the mouth and nose, but does nothing to save the rest of your body and bike from being thoroughly pelted with those ............... insects.  They're going nuts, trapped behind your glasses, unable to escape.  They're in you ears, wings buzzing at unnatural volume.  They're trapped in the hair on your arms, legs and head.  Some of them go down into your jersey.

And there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.

Sickening.

Most sane people avoid the river altogether.

Our friends, the Velominati, those who abide by The Rules, will quickly and correctly invoke Rule 5:  Harden The Fuck Up.  Forget about the discomfort, the good vs. evil duality and the stomach-churning revulsion.  Put on your Big Boy Pants, grow a pair, put your head down, just ride through and don't be such a fucking pussy about it.

My good friend and sometime cycling partner, Mr. Ected, says it best ...

All you can do is just open your mouth and take in the protein.

Shelly's Mantra

One my wife's best friends, a gal we'll call Shelly, is a cancer survivor.  Cervical cancer.  She's been through 3 rounds of chemotherapy for that.  The therapy beat the crap out of her, but she pulled though and is currently in remission.

Shelly is also a recovering alcoholic.  She's been sober for over 20 years.

She tends to vote Republican.

I tend to overlook that.

I have a lot of respect for Shelly.

When my doctor's constant pressure about my smoking finally got to be too much, I went to Shelly for some advice.  After all, she a pulled through several rounds of chemo AND quit drinking.  Anyone who's been though that in one lifetime is someone to be talking to about smoking cessation.  I asked her if, based on personal experience with breaking the cycle of addiction, did she know of some trick, something I may have overlooked, or simply didn't know when I tried quitting before?  Her answer was both simple and profound.

Whatever you do, no matter what happens, DO NOT have another cigarette.

In my experience the simplest advice is always the best.

DO NOT have another cigarette.

That's pretty simple but it's also very hard.  Resisting the urge to to smoke, to have one more cigarette, is the one thing I was never able to do.  Just the same, I knew that's exactly what I'd have to do if was was ever going to quit.

Shelly was right.

 I decided to begin by evaluating my situation.  I saw my addiction on several fronts.  I was addicted to Nicotine, of course.  I also had a digital fixation - I needed to have something in my hand.  I had an oral fixation, too - something in my mouth.  I was addicted to the sensation of having something other than air drawn into my lungs and exhaled as well.  After some consideration I decided that was the world of my smoking addiction.

Next was how to address that.  Having been though a number of half-hearted attempts and ultimate failures, I felt that to gang-up and kick the shit outta the habit was the way to go.  Take no prisoners.  I decided that the need for Nicotine could be dealt with with patches.  I'd used them before and they do tend to keep nicotine craving under control.  My wife suggested trying one of those so-called "eCigs" to help deal with digital/oral fixation.  Then, a little something to take the stressful edge off: Wellbuterin.  Wellbuterin is a drug used to treat depression, Seasonal Affective Disorder and aid in smoking cessation.  Added to that was a new mantra .....

Whatever you do, DO NOT have another cigarette.

I was set.

I won't bore you with endless details about this adventure.  Suffice it to say that after two years I have remained smoke-free.  I've laid all the tools, the patches, the eCigs, the Welbuterin aside as well.  I don't need them.  The one thing I still carry is Shelly's mantra .....

Whatever you do, DO NOT have another cigarette.

After a good meal when a smoke would be perfect ....

Whatever you do, DO NOT have another cigarette.

When I pass a group of smokers and something tells me that they'd happily bum me a smoke ....

Whatever you do, DO NOT have another cigarette.

When I get stressed out with work ...

Whatever you do, DO NOT have another cigarette.

After sex .... ;-)

Whatever you do, DO NOT have another cigarette.

DO NOT have another cigarette.

Quitting smoking isn't easy.  Having friends like Shelly who have been down that road can be a real blessing.

Listen to what they say..

It's Not A Death Sentence

If you want to be sad, no one in the world can make you happy. But if you make up your mind to be happy, no one and nothing on earth can take that happiness from you.

~Paramahansa Yogananda

One of the things you learn when you have cancer is that there are a lot of well-meaning people - beautiful people - who step up and offer their support.  More often than not, that's moral support.

We'll be here if you need us.

If there's anything you need, let us us know.

That sort of thing.

I'm not trying to trivialize.  What these people offer, oftentimes the only thing they that they can offer, is really important.  It's surprisingly comforting to know you have people "in your corner", so to speak.  You find out pretty quickly who actually gives a shit and who doesn't.  You may not ever have to call on them and in any event, there may be nothing they can do, but you do come to consider these people your friends.  They want to make you happy.

We'll be here.........

I had a couple rather touching examples at my office.

Two of the first people I told about the cancer was my boss, Wayne, and his administrative assistant Tammy.  A couple days later I got an email from the senior partners' administrative assistant, Darlene.

Barry and Carol are so sorry to hear about your cancer and wanted me to let you know that if there's any thing the partners can do to help, don't hesitate to ask.  Please keep us posted.

I thought that was very nice.  I was touched.  I was also moderately curious about how Barry and Carol found out about the cancer in the first place, but Ma Clover didn't raise ingrates.  Better to acknowledge the kindness and forget about the source.  So I wrote back saying how deeply I touched I was by the message and thank you very much.  A month before I would have been a little outraged at the intrusion, but today I was thankful for the understanding and compassion being demonstrated.  I was a little curious about how  they found out about it but didn't inquire. As it turned out it was Tammy who spilled the beans.  I couldn't be mad at her, either.  It all came down to people being compassionate.  You can't get pissed about that.

Sometime later I was walking past Wayne's office and he called me in to catch up on how things were going.  I talked about still feeling OK and what a pain all the doctors were and how I'd be better served in Iceland and all about all the crap I was going through.  Wayne took this in with a great deal of understanding.  His wife was in remission from Lymphoma at the time and he and his family had been through the wringer.  Without having actually had cancer himself, he knew exactly what I was going through.  As I was leaving his office he added this:

My wife and I were talking about your situation the other day and she asked me to pass along something.  She asked me to tell you that it's not a death sentence.

.....it's not a death sentence.

I'd already had my fill of people telling me how sorry they were about my having cancer, the looks of sheer horror, the pity.  Finally, someone, a fellow survivor, was giving me something I could work with.  It was like a breath of fresh air.  I had a new mantra.  I decided that this ...... thing ...... that afflicted me would never get the better of me.  I would live life, what life was left to me, happily and fully.  I had a disease, yes.  It might not be curable, yes.  Life in the future could and probably would be a real bitch at times, yes.  So what?

.....it's not a death sentence.

In our society, we're conditioned to think that a cancer diagnosis is the end of the road.  We think that a doctor telling us we have cancer is the same as saying us we're a dead man.  It's all over.  The end of the road.  The last hurrah.  Time to piss on the fire and call in the dogs.

But it's not.  It's none of that.  Yes, in a existential way of thinking, we're all dead.  None of us are getting out of here alive.  That much is certain.  However a doctor telling us we have cancer doesn't mean we're dead ....... yet.  For many of us, surviving cancer means the belief that there is a lot of life left to live and that we will go on living (not just staying alive) ........ until we die.  Maybe all cancer survivors feel way. 

Everyone should live that way.

.....it's not a death sentence.

The Bike

After riding the mountain bike for a couple months, two became things became clear.   One was that I needed a better bike than what I had.  A better bike would be ……… better.  I was riding a lot and I was riding hard.   I was riding longer distances at ever-increasing speeds.   The bike I had, simply, wasn’t going to cut it for very much longer. The second thing was that it seemed I had almost no interest in riding in the dirt.  Even when opportunities to play in the dirt would present themselves I stayed to pavement.   A mountain bike wasn’t of much use.   It was clear that a new bike was needed and it wasn’t going to be a mountain bike.

It turned out to be a road bike.  This road bike.

I enlisted the help of a new friend, Glen.  Glen was an experienced bike racer and had forgotten more about bikes than I knew.  Glen was generous with his time and knowledge, answering every question, offering advice on what to look for and what to avoid.  I learned a lot from Glen - derailleurs, brakes, wheels, saddles, tires and frames.  I absorbed as much as I could.  I wanted to be as informed as possible when the time came to buy my next bike.  I wanted it to be the best bike I could afford.

One day Glen emailed me a sale flier that listed a 2011 GT GTR Series 2 road bike.  It had the kind of components I was looking for and the price was right.  I drove down to the shop after work, looked the bike over and took it for a test ride.  Although it had been 40 years since the last time I got on a road bike, I found the GT comfortable, steady and predictable.  I liked it immediately.  After talking it over with the wife, we decided to buy it.  It was Christmas time, and money was a little tight, so we put it on lay-away with the idea of redeeming the bike in mid-February.   Three months.

That was a long three months.  Although the weather around the Holidays wasn't always suited  to riding, every time a nice day came along, I found myself wanting to get on GT and ride it somewhere rather than the POS I had.    I was like a kid waiting for a present he knew he was getting.  It was kinda fun to feel that way, but it was also kind of frustrating.  I still had the old, POS mountain bike to ride and it was, of course, better than nothing, but  it wasn't the bike that was waiting for me.  It wasn't the kind of bike I wanted to be riding.

February finally came.  We finished paying off the layaway, and brought the bike home.  I asked the mechanic to remove the spoke protector from the rear wheel.  This item is also called a "Pie Pan" or "Dork Disc".  It was ugly.  I didn't want it on my bike.  When I got home, I put Mr. Tuffy tape in the tires for better flat protection. I shit-canned the reflectors.  I took the pedals and cyclocomputer off the MTB and mounted them on the GT.

The bike was home and ready to ride.

I took the next day off work and took the GT for a long ride. Twenty five miles.  I was in love.  It was everything the mountain bike was not - light, responsive, fast and easy on the eye.  It was cloudy and cool out, but I didn't really notice.  I saw a few similarly dedicated cyclists on the road.  I nodded, smiled and waved.  I was now a Roadie.  I was one them.  We recognize our own, don't we?  They did not respond in kind.  Then a young lady on a Trek passed me.  Didn't say a word.  I wanted to say something to her about what I nice day for a ride it was, but before I could get a word out, she was gone out of earshot.  But what the hell.  It was nothing personal and this wasn't a race.  There was a long downhill at about the half-way point.  I decided to get down in the "drops" and take this descent like a pro.  Sort of.  Nearing the bottom I shot a glance at the computer: 35 MPH!!!!!!! 

Sonofabitch, that's FUCKING FAST!!!!!!

The rest of the ride was along the South Platte River. I blew through several clouds of Road Krill en route, but being peppered with gnats didn't bother me.  I was now a Roadie and was above such mundane annoyances.  I made it home, tired, but happy and supremely satisfied.  I wheeled the bike into the garage set it up in the stand, got a cup of coffee and sat with my new bike for a while.  Then I grabbed a rag and wiped her down.

I'd done alright.

2011 GT GTR Series 2

Wheels: Mavic Aksium Race
Tires: Kenda Kadence 700 X 23c
Handlebars:  Ritchey
Brakes: Tektonic R540
Front Derailleur: SRAM Apex
Rear Derailleur: SRAM Apex
Brake/Shift Levers: SRAM Apex Double-Tap
Headset:  FSA Orbit 1 Inegrated
Bottom Bracket: FSA Mega Exo
Crank:  SRAM Apex 50/34

Things I Added

Headlight
Tail light
2 bottle cages
Mr. Tuffy tire liners
Pedals from the MTB
Cateye cyclocomputer from the MTB.

Shit-Canned

Rear wheel spoke protector ("Pie Pan" or "Dork Disc")
Reflectors

Things I Changed Later

Tires
Just before the Denver Century, I changed the Kenda 23s to a set of Vittoria Rubino Pro Slick 25s.  My hope was to get a more compliant ride, which I got, but the increased tire diameter changed rollout and in effect raised my overall gear ratios.  I recently switched back to the Kendas.

Cassette
The bike came with a Shimano 12-25 cassette.  After riding with this for several months I decided I needed lower gearing for climbs and opted for the SRAM 1050 12-28 cassette instead.  Good choice.

Chain
The bike came with a Shimano chain.  When I replaced the cassette, I got a new SRAM PC 1031 PowerChain.

Seatpost
I was cursed by two reputable mechanics for the stock seatpost – a Ritchey OEM post.  Ashamed, I replaced the Ritchey with a Deda Elementi  Pro RS01.  Much nicer.

Pedals
Not really a change as the bike came without pedals. At first I used the pedals off the old MTB.  When I decided to step up to clipless pedals I chose the Crank Brothers Eggbeater 1. A friend had a factory rebuilt set with new cleats.  I like walking normally and have vivid memories of the Earth Shoe.

Eggbeaters are easy to clip in/out of and hold the foot securely.  They're a LOT more comfortable than they look.  The colors even match the bike.

Seat
The bike came with the Fi'zi:k Pave CS saddle.  That saddle was fine for about two hours of riding and then became really uncomfortable.  After trying a few others, I settled on the Selle An Atomica Titanico X to replace the Fi'zi:k.  The TX is a leather hammock-style saddle, but required no break in - immediately comfortable.  I also needed more setback on the saddle than other saddles offered and the Titanico has really long mounting rails that worked perfectly for that problem.

Note:  Choice of saddles is probably the most personal thing on road bike.  Some saddles work for some peope and not for others.  My decision to replace the Fi'zi:k is not a reflection on the quality of that saddle.  It wasn't working and for the sake of my butt a change was necessary.

Welcome Back or Under The Knife Part 2

Hey Honey!  Welcome back.  How d’ya feel?

Coming out of a general anesthetic is like waking up to find yourself in the middle of a David Lynch film.  Everything seems normal.  Kind of.  Everything seems normal until you realize everything isn’t normal.

In my case, The Drugs were doing a real number on me.  My head felt like someone had opened it up and stuffed it full of wet cotton.  My hands felt like they weren't attached to my arms any more.  My tongue felt like a loofah.

I’m thirsty.  Can I have some water?

I could feel the words forming in my mouth, but couldn’t tell if they were coming out.

I could feel the air conditioning in the room next door.  Somewhere, behind the radiator, there was singing.

In heaven, everything is fine ....

The words must have been working.  A face was hovering over mine.  A kind and loving face.  Sue’s face.  Her lips were moving.

Sure, Sweetie.  I’ll get you some water.  Are you in any pain?  The doctor said you could have some more medicine if you need it.

I think I shook my mead.  Sue went to a nearby pitcher and was pouring a glass of water .... I thought so anyway …. I kept thinking ….

Medicine?  Why do they keep calling  it medicine?  It’s hi-powered pain killers they’re talking about.  Demerol.  Dilaudid. Morphine.  Serious Shit Pain Killers.   But where’s The Pain?  There’s no Pain.

Sue brought the water over and I took a sip.  The ceiling wouldn’t stop undulating.  I closed my eyes.

Did they forget to do the marrow biopsy?

No Sweetie, they did the biopsy, why?

There’s no Pain.  Did they forget?

No Sweetie, they did everything. You rest now.

Resting was easy.  Too easy.  Back into the darkness……

Hi, Sweetie!  Y’okay?

The David Lynch film must have been winding down.   My tongue still felt like a loofah.

In heaven, everything ………

I don't know how long I'd been out, but things didn't seem quite so .... wrong.

Did they forget to do the marrow biopsy?

For some strange reason, I was fixating on this bone marrow biopsy.  I had been expecting a great deal of pain and there wasn't any.  At all.  They must have forgotten.  That, or it was just The Drugs.

No, Sweetie, they did everything.  Are you thirsty?

Are you sure?

I was drinking a glass of water when a nurse came in.  She introduced herself and said that the doctor said I could have some oral Dilaudid (or something like that) if I needed it, so just ask.  They were gonna keep me for another hour and then send me home.

The hour came and went.  I decided that I'd take them up on the Dilaudid offer just before we left.  I got dressed, got the complimentary wheelchair ride to the pickup area and went home.  I sat in My Comfy Chair for the rest of the day, watched TV and drooled a lot.

***********************************************

A week later I was in my oncologist's office going over the lab results.   This time they had enough tissue to make a proper diagnosis.  The verdict was Lymphoma (we already new that), Non-Hodgkin's and very low grade (we had suspected).  There would be no chemo or radiation therapy for the time being, but we'd watch things.  Come back in six months.

Have a nice day.

This was probably the best news I could have hoped for.  I was as happy as a person could be, given the circumstatnces, but I wasn't out of the woods yet.  It was still cancer.  It was still growing.  There was still a lot of shit to deal with.

It's Josh's Bike Now

It used to be mine.

I bought it "off the rack" at my local Kmart.  Or was it Walmart. Shit, I don't remember, but wherever it was, it happened ten years ago.  Maybe.  I forget.  Dammit!  I don't even remember why I bought it in the first place.

This gettin' old shit ain't for pussies.

Anyway.....

I bought this bike and used it briefly. Then it sat in the garage for a long time, collecting dust, the tires going flat.  Ignored.  Neglected. All but forgotten.

Then came Doctors Orders.

Ride your bike.

So, I pulled ten years of flotsam off the bike.  I cleaned it up.  I put air back in the tires.  I oiled the chain.  I went to the cupboard, grabbed my helmet and gloves and went back to go for a ride.

Both tires were already flat.

Gawddammit!

So, I went to the nearest bike shop and got a couple tubes.  I got home replaced the tubes, aired-up the tires and went for a ride.

Let me take a moment to describe the bike.  It was a full-suspension mountain bike.  For those unfamiliar with bikes like this, a full-suspension bike has a suspension system on both wheels.  It was made from aluminum and heavy (weighed in at 42 pounds).  It had 21 speeds - 7 gears (or cogs) on the rear wheel and 3 gears (or chainrings) on the crank.  The derailleurs were made by Shimano but not particularly good.  By any standard, this wasn't a particularly good bike, but it was serviceable.

I would joke about the bike.  I'd call it a POS (Piece of Shit).  I'd run down the derailuers, the wheels, the tires, the frame, the seat, the weight and whatever benighted, reprobate, creature designed it.  I would, at times, be relentless in my condemnation.  Privately, it was a much different story.

I was having fun.

Despite all the bike's shortcomings, I was enjoying the hell out of riding it. The sights and sounds associated with cycling were kind of intoxicating.  Meeting the challenges of a climb, a new route, an old route ridden faster or a longer route I found to be supremely satisfying.  I was feeling better.  I was losing a little weight.  My cardio-vascular health was improving.   It was all that, more and I was loving every minute of it. It may not have been the best bike in the world and it may have been every bit the POS I was telling people it was, but it was also my conveyance to a new world, a new way of life.

I found tinkering with that bike to be very therapeutic.  Going to the garage after dinner with a cup of coffee and NPR to work on my bike (whether it needed the work or not) became a ritual of sorts.  It was calming.  It was intimate.  It was rewarding.

It provided me with education.  I learned to do things I didn’t know how to do.  I learned to adjust derailleurs and brakes.  I cleaned and re-greased the wheel bearings.  I took it apart and put it back together.  I found out what differences changing seat or handlebar positioning would make.  I learned how to pace myself.  I learned how to listen to my body.

This bike, this “piece of shit”, was helping me in ways I had never thought I could be helped.  Taking me to places I had never considered going to.  My life was changing, right before my very eyes and this machine was at the heart of it.

It really wasn’t a piece of shit.  It was more like a friend.  I liked this bike.  I was having fun with it.  It was helping me make my world a Better Place.

What are friends for?

*********************************************

All things change and so would this.  That bike was a mountain bike.  It was meant to be ridden off-road and I was becoming more interested in road cycling.  I found a decent road bike, bought it and began riding that.  The mountain bike was once again set aside.  I was thinking about giving it to some needy kid when a friend, Josh, offered to buy it from me.  I needed some kit, so I took him up on his offer.

So now it’s Josh’s bike and I hope he can get a fraction of what I got from it.

See You On The Other Side or Under The Knife Part 1

Once again, things were getting off to a shaky start.

I was sitting in a cubicle having an interview with a Nice Lady prior to the laparoscopic surgery we had scheduled.  She was asking questions and recording my answers.

Would you like the services of a chaplain?

I thought that might be a good idea.  Having a fellow Buddhist to chat with might help calm my understandably jittery nerves.

Yes, I think so.  I’m a Buddhist, Kagyu if it makes a difference, but any Buddhist chaplain on your staff would be just fine.

I got this blank look from the Nice Lady - that blank look that suggested  that I could have been speaking Esperanto, for all the good it was doing me.

Pardon me, sir?

This was not going well.  I was beginning to regret asking for a Buddhist chaplain, but forged ahead anyway.

It was now a matter of principle.

I’m a Buddhist.  I would like to see a Buddhist chaplain if there is one on your staff.

I could tell she wasn’t getting this at all.

I could call our non-denominational chaplain if you like.

Is this chaplain Buddhist?

No, sir, but he’s very nice.

I was beginning to sense that being "nice" was very important here.

I’m sure, but no matter how "nice" he is, seeing as I’m a Buddhist and he’s not, it hardly seems appropriate ,don’t you think? Perhaps we should move on?

She was visibly relieved, but I was not.  I fixated on the fact that less than 50 miles from where we sat there was an accredited Buddhist university, Naropa, that had a highly-respected Buddhist chaplaincy program.  Ours is a metro area with Buddhists of virtually every kind and lots of them.  That this hospital didn’t have any sort of Buddhist on the chaplaincy staff was very strange.   Buddhism is the 4th largest religion in the country.  Buddhists go to the hospital all the time.  Don't we deserve a chaplain of our own .......

Anyway …..

More pressing matters awaited.

I was then ushered into The Room Where They Make You Wear Humiliating Clothes and was made to undress and don the Humiliating Clothes.  Every single person involved in this procedure, including my oncologist, then marched through the room with smiles and sunshine and handshakes, saying how pleased they were to see me and how I shouldn’t worry and everyone was sooooo fucking nice and ......

 .... we’re gonna have a great time and we’re gonna find that pesky cancer and take pictures of it  and you’re gonna be just fine, and isn’t it a nice day, and …….

I found myself wanting the general anesthetic right away. I wanted to go outside and have a cigarette where there weren't any Nice People. These people parading though the room were way too irritating, way too intense, so fucking nice.  They meant well, to be sure, but it suddenly occurred to me that they were undoubtedly terrified that something would go horribly wrong and my entire family would sue the b'jeeziss out of the hospital and they were all gonna loose their jobs, so......

We'd better be super-nice to this guy or we’re all as good as dead.

I recall saying to someone that there are excellent decaffeinated coffees available these days.

Finally they wheeled me into the operating room. A voice above my head came to me ….

Hi, I’m Dr. Bob and I’m your anesthesiologist today.  We met earlier. We’re gonna start giving you some medicine here in a second.

I had this strange premonition that he was about to ask me if I was allergic to shellfish.

Someone said that that you were the guy in charge of the tunes, is that right?

Yes sir!  I have all sorts of music I can play for you.  Any Requests?

I felt like being difficult.  I would punish them for not having a Buddhist chaplain.

Yes.  Emerson, Lake and Palmer.  Works One. Side A.

One of my favorites too, but I don’t have it here.  Anything else?

I suppressed an urge to ask for some Hawkwind, deciding they had been punished enough.  Time to move on.

Blues?  Anything along that line?

Yes sir, plenty of that.

So, as things faded to black, it was to Buddy Guy playing Sweet Home Chicago, live.
Cool.  Things were looking up.  I remember someone saying ….

See you on the other side!

Do you have a bicycle?

My doctor had been busting my chops for years about everything about my lifestyle that sucked. My cholesterol was too high. I weighed too much. I had been smoking for over 30 years and that had to stop. My blood pressure was kinda scary. In general, my health was a fucking train wreck. I would be pestered about this, gently, for years.

However, the news that I might (and probably did) have cancer brought my general health into sharper focus and with renewed intensity. All of a sudden, my doctor was all over my case about those health issues and would not be deterred. She was dead serious and unrelenting. I soon realized that the only way I was gonna shut her up would be to go along with it.  One by one, my vices, the determents to my health, would have to be abandoned. Some things could be dealt with medicinally. Other things, like smoking would take commitment to changing habits and discipline in attaining it. My doctor felt that an exercise regimen would be a sensible approach to things like blood pressure and weight and recommended I walk 45 minutes a day. This was easy and enjoyable enough, but I began to develop ankle problems. I reported this.

Do you have a bicycle?

Yeah.

The bike had been sitting in the garage collecting dust for 10 years.  It was a heavy, slow, ugly, piece of shit mountain bike but it was a bike and could be ridden.

Ride your bike instead.

So I went home, dug out the bike, aired-up the tires, dusted off the frame, oiled the chain, threw a leg over it ....

and rode.

Is Godzilla Around The Corner?

SKY News ran a story today reporting mutant butterflies near the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant that was hit by a tsunami last year.

Don't fret. This doesn't mean that there will be giagantic mutant creatures duking it out and leveling Tokyo this week but one can't help but wonder. Godzilla, renowned in legend, song and celluloid was the product of raditaion unleashed via nuclear weapons testing. The distruction caused by the beast was and remains unprecendented. Could our worst nightmare be right around the corner?  Have the seeds for a real Godzilla been planted off the coast of Japan? Will some great mutant beast arise from the ocean and smash Tokyo flatter than whale shit someday soon?

Will there be a Mothra or a Gamara to come and save the day?

Or are we just, plain, screwed?

next ........

I found an oncologist. A nice enough guy and certainly capable but awfully busy and perhaps a bit over worked. I felt that a connection was needed to put this whole Having Cancer business on a human level. I wasn't able to get that. He spent a lot of time looking at my paperwork and not at me. That wasn’t the best start to a doctor/patient relationship, but I figured if things didn’t work out I’d find another oncologist.

His first order of business was to find out just what was going on. He suspected
a low-grade Lymphoma of some sort, but initial exams and blood work was unrevealing.

He then ordered a CT scan - guided needle biopsy and a full-body ct scan. The biopsy procedure was described as using a CT scanner to guide the placement of a hollow, stainless steel needle as much as 3 inches into my guts to get some cells from an affected lymph node. It occurred to me that having a steel spike driven that deeply into my belly might be a bit painful so I asked if such a procedure could be performed with me being unconscious. He said yes. So, the biopsy procedure would be performed with me being anesthetized.

The day of the procedure arrived. For prep, they gave me a big glass of contrast for the full-body scan. Someone came in a few minutes later and told me the contrast was given prematurely and I would not be given the general anesthetic because I now had something in my stomach and might choke on my own vomit.

That’s what killed Hendrix.

I was not pleased by this news.

Then the contrast gave me the shits.

Things were getting worse by the minute.

Next they wheeled me into the CT scan lab and the doctor who would be performing the procedure came in, sat down and got down to business. He didn't introduce himself.

Asshole…

The way this sort of thing works is they do a scan, insert this big needle, take another scan, move the needle around, take another scan and so on. Keep in mind
I was awake though all of this. To say it was painful would have been something of an understatement. He'd move the needle. Take a sample and send it to the lab.
Wait. Repeat as necessary. It would hurt like hell. I'd tense up. Asshole would say ......

Just relax, okay?

I'm thinking to myself ........ You've got something that feels like a 10-penny
nail jammed in my guts and you want me to relax? Fuck you relax! Let me jam the fuckin' thing in YOUR guts and let’s see YOU relax, fucker!

This went on for a while. An attending nurse, an Angel, offered to give me some "medicine" for the pain, which turned out to be morphine. She would give me two shots of "medicine" during the course of the procedure. It did nothing for the pain, but got me totally fucked up. I figure that was ok. If I was gonna be in a lot of pain because some moreon screwed up with the contrast, the absolute least they could do, was drug the hell out of me for my trouble.

Finally it ended. The Asshole left the room. They sent me home.

The day of the follow-up with my oncologist arrived. The doctor came in, and looked at my paperwork and said ....

It looks like they didn't get enough cellular matter. I can't make a diagnosis…..

That really wasn't what I wanted to hear. I thought ...

Sweet Christ! You're telling me that I went through unmitigated hell for nothing?

Before I could say anything he went on ....

….and I'm sorry about that and it looks like they screwed up with the contrast so you were awake through the whole thing. Sorry about that.

Sorry doesn't change much in my case, but , I figured, what the hell. Move on.

So, we decided that we'd move forward, but not repeat the needle biopsy. This time he wanted me to undergo laparoscopic surgery to get an adequate sampling. He also said he wanted a bone marrow biopsy as well. I knew about that. A Lymphoma survivor I had met talked about it. They take a core sample of bone marrow out of your hip. They use an electric drill-thingee. It really hurts. He assured me I’d be out for both procedures.

It was encouraging.

What would happen next will be another story.

Intro

I’m sorry, but you’re fucked.

That’s what I thought would be the next words to come out of his mouth.

I was sitting in an exam room in one of those Urgent Care clinics. I was beginning to pass a kidney stone and The Pain was beginning. I needed pain killers, not a diagnosis. I was getting neither.

I was out of pain killers and couldn’t get in to see my own doctor for a ‘scrip. My doctor would have looked at a urine sample and being familiar with my history would have probably written a prescription and sent me home. That’s all they ever do. This clinic didn’t know any of that so they sent me off to the imaging lab for a CT scan. I figured I’d be on my way home with a bottle of Vicodin in my hand and a couple caps in my system inside of 2 hours, The Pain defeated again.

But this doctor was taking one of those nervous, deep breaths that tells you that what he was about to say was anything but good news.

The radiologist at the imaging lab was reviewing your CT scan and found something very suspicious in your mesentery tissues. It may be a Lymphoma. You should see your own doctor and get in to see and Oncologist right away.

Put more simply, I’m sorry but you’re fucked.

This was the beginning of a journey - a journey that would begin with an extra Vicodin that night and in the years that followed led me though the medical establishment and the Stuff I Am Made Of to learn a single important lesson.

I am not fucked.