Another year; another year older. Hoo-ah.

Official end of holidazzle season. Caught the trifecta this year of Thanksgiving, Xmas, and NYEve. Working with a great bunch of folks made the holidays go fine. People weren't all that stupid, violent, or depressed over the fortnight (at least not around us) so the call load wasn't terrible. We had snow. That snowy snow, and it was massive, and we shoveled it, and it fell anew, and we shoveled that, too. And so it went.

I'm candy-assing winter riding, largely due to my well proven difficulties maintaining an upper hand over gravity. Got out skiing once, snow-shoe trotting a couple times. Really makes me miss Shrike, to not have a thick-coasted cur to tromp le monde with. Moby's doing great, but his puppy paws and negligible coat mean he's not a winter-sport dog. Temps have been consistently inconsistent. With exception of one ludicrous upswing into upper 30s that melted and then promptly refroze all the good snow--leaving horrible sharp, solid ice mounds in its place--it's been either cold or colder. It's the wind, money. The wind.

True Grit: very, very good.
The Fighter: great performances.
Black Swan: hmmmmmmmm.

Birthday itself was best event-day I've had in a while. Girls and I met Danny C & S1 to train at Gvt Ctr stairs for IDS stair climb. Girls were troopers. Flann wants to do it w/ me next month, which will be a cool challenge. She got herself up the stairs several times. Voluntary challenges... psychological triumphs layered over the physical.

Dinner with team, then Annie & I hit a movie. Good stuff. Good day. Good start to the year. Plague of locusts: hold your fire until April, at least.

Trauma Sponges

Work has been relatively slow past couple shifts, which is a nice respite after the go-go-cuckoo-ness of the middle of the month. Sure, we're still digging out fire hydrants and stumbling through knee-deep drifts from the street to the sidewalks, and the putative emergency routes are actually less wide than the single-sided streets thanks to the new no-fly zone the plows have been observing five feet from the curbs. Also, the regular work world is in that end-of-year torpor where half the offices are on vacation and flex schedules, teletubby commuting, and those of us on shift work keep wondering when the request for more shovels and toilet paper will be stamped and forwarded. Since the weekend before Xmas, there's been a skeleton crew in the Admin offices, which gives a sense of rudderlessness to the ship of state for those of us out in the satellite stations. Are you there, boss? It's me, your staff.

Xmas season is hard, and we managed to avoid, for the most part, depression tragedies. I've caught a few over the past decade: home for the holidays is too much, so the sad person disappears for a few hours, never to return. Shitty thing to do to the family. Others just give out: multiple natural-death discoveries over this period. Perhaps no greater number than regular days, but the holiday veneer makes it seem worse.

We had a near-miss, or save, I guess, last night. A teenager had been busted smoking weed (with her adult uncle...yay, family) and grounded. She spent day half-pouting, as is the wont of grounded teens, then ingested all the pills she could find. The family thought she was just sleeping and pouting; in fact, one of the older women in the house was resting on the bed with her, thinking it was a nap, when they saw she was turning blue. We got her breathing again and the medics got the narcan into her, bringing her back around. Two hours later, she'd have been left to sleep all night, and forever.

I gave her a parental/teacherly lecture in the ambulance: 'No matter how bad you feel today, it WILL get better. Tomorrow will come. It's hard to believe that when you're in the middle of it, but it does get better.'
She stared at me through her gummy, lidded eyes, doubt and refusal the only focusing energy coming through the narcotic haze. I'm sure I don't know what her life is like, but the risk with teens, as evidenced here, is their sense of perspective is so short and myopic that they take rash actions over nothing. The dust will settle but the suicide won't.

Three shifts ago, we had a fender bender where all the passengers of the medical transport service immediately claimed injuries. They were so ingrained in the victim cycle, so self-selecting as injured and victimized, the thought that they were NOT hurt never crossed their minds. We'd had a boy jump/leap/fall fifty feet onto the road: THAT was injured. This was bullshit. After checking the passengers, investigating the cars for impact-damage (relative speed indications), I could barely muster civil, professional neutrality. The mother whining about all her injured parts, while moving freely and sighing about the inconvenience of it all--she tested me. We're not allowed to tell people they are, in our opinions, fucking weak, fucking faking, fucking whiny, but, honestly, when we witness the on-going abuse of the system, it's hard not to point out the bullshit. I certainly tell all the smokers who call us for their respiratory problems that their continued habit of smoking is making their breathing problems worse, and, by implication, wasting our time. Why should we rush through shitty streets to get here because your poor lungs can't get good oxygen through the dank, dense curtain of nicotine and ash clotting everything?

And tomorrow night is amateur night. Let's hope for a paucity of drunk stupidity.

Opposable thumbs

We lose our autonomy in the vats of our comfort and complacency. A metric fuck-ton of snow fell at warp speed. There's only so much snow the plows can clear. We were shoveling the apron at the station every 90 minutes instead of 2-4 hours and we were behind. Surprise! Nature won. Yet people act as if there should be an app for that. Harden up and shovel more fucking snow. (Too, Mpls plows can/could aim for within a five meter reach of the curb; even on the putative Emergency streets, there's barely room for two Priuses to pass with Smart Cars parked on either curb.)

The hypocritical invocation of Xmas' sanctity in name of ... Republican politicians not-voting for benefits for the same patriotic workers whose visages papered their campaign literature (when it was convenient); now, they're as suspect and greedy as anchor babies. Religious smugness vs. anti-commercial smugness vs. not-so-veiled anti-Other mean-spiritedness: Reclaim Xmas. Reclaim America. Reclaim the Constitution (that thing tattered, shredded, Patriot Act-ed, and water-boarded until barely a postage-stamp sized memo during Good Old Days of W. Bush).

I saw a treacly piece of not-news about one of those guys who never drops the mask of Santa, 'just spreading Xmas cheer all year round.' It's a story. If I committed to playing Captain Ahab, or Hester Prynne, or MacBeth (Lady or Her Mister, Chauncy MacBeth), would people find it a sweet gesture for literacy? If I went deep to play a Harry Potter character, or the Tooth Fairy, or Satan, would they interview me on a slow 'news' cycle weekend?

So, there was some snow? And, it totally, you know, fell. All over everywhere. And then more snow felt. The eskimos ran out of fucking words for snow, because we had so much fall today--and they probably don't have enough words for 'dumb-ass blindly determined drivers repeatedly miring their cars in deep snow.' I realize you live JUST OVER THERE, but the street really is impassible. Not for everyone but you, but for everyone other than Santa.

It's gorgeous outside, but the trick is that the temps are plummeting. Already kissing zero and heading south. Won't be above ten until Weds. That's depressing. Strong winds are depressing. Etc. Etc.

Cyclotic Summary

I wanted to train & race more at the track all summer; three nights I had work trades set up, we were rained out. The final day of the season, rained out. I took the class in May, where three classes were rain-affected, but didn't get to race until early August. Good, in a way, because the beginner's men class is/was clogged with, well, beginners. A range of skills and speeds, with higher likelihood of crashing. My goal was to avoid a bad crash. It's a lot of fun, and I hope to do more of it next year.

I completed three of the AGRS races (100 mile gravel self-supported endeavors). There are those who race, and those who ride. I'm safely and deeply in the latter, but it's still a great deal of fun and challenge. I had to pull out of the fourth event, the Heck of the North, due to work. It was the week following the Gentleman's Ride, aka Almanzo Redux, which put sufficient hurt on me to disincline me to ride, even if I'd been able to get up there. Beautiful terrain, but hard shit.

And there are cats who RACE-race these things. Tuck and pedal hard for 100 miles of gravel, hills, descents, more gravel. Yikes.

I pulled something in my left elbow doing a ridiculously hilly ride in SW Wisconsin. Dairyland Dare is no joke, either. For the flat middle of the country, there're a lot of damn steep hills/valleys.

The men & women on Behind-Bars/LGR have been most welcoming this season. I am old enough to be the father of a few of them, but it's been a great time. While I'm continuing to 'build my base' (and I'll do that until I'm just stuck in a slow gear/land), while also developing racing skills, endurance, speed, handling skills, power, balance, etc, those around me were actively racing. I looked over the cyclocross results for Cat-4s, and recognized a handful of gents I was generally finishing with. It's pretty apparent that the starting positions made a decent difference for the short-lap races. The one time I wasn't in the way back, I had a glimmer of 'Hey, this might actually land me above the bottom-third!' and then someone ran over my rear wheel, knocking me to the VERY back. I never ended up DFL, and learned a little bit over the course of the season. It's hard and really, really fun.

My intention to ride all winter is tempered by my desire not to wipe out on ice/snow. Lots of people live by their bikes, but I acknowledge my fear of falling trumps noble intentions and daring desires.

Oh, and then we got a puppy...

Dias de Gracias, antes de los dias del tontos (viernes 'negro')

I was putting the girls to bed last night and, in lieu of jesus pep talk or mish-mash of guilt- and/or hegemonic-driven Thanksgiving narrative, suggested we spend time today thinking about those we love, those we miss, all we have, and then spend serious time considering those who don't have families to visit, or aren't welcomed, or have no ties, or no jobs, no homes, no health, no food. It's easy to forget to even make cursory attempts, or lip-service tributes, to the sentiment at root of the day--especially when the culture as a blobby whole is either shrieking in rancid pleasure at it's tea partied a-historical/logical self-supremacy or else (NO: AND/while) revving up it's amphetamine-fueled fat sodas & lattes to break each other's necks at four-thirty am tomorrow for more shit we don't need.

It's easy to feel despairing about the nonsense accumulating on the surface, in the blood stream, in the psyches of this nation's residents. The culmination of a far-too-easy assault on logic, clarity, and integrity by... mad marketing men, business conglomerates (if the 'news' is owned by the sellers, what is the freedom of the press?), not-even-pseudo demagogue politicians, and, yes, reality fucking t.v.

Wow, it's so depressing I'm going to go sweat and play french rap loudly. Tomorrow, I might put 1000 denver boots on random cars in the mall parking lots. It's like 1000 Points of Light, but with meaning.

Downward dogdom

After a long struggle to make it work, I've had to yield to the realities of our/my home life, work schedule, and training limitations. I couldn't make it work with Shrike at home. He's utterly sweet, but utterly jacked, and I wasn't able to sufficiently shape his drives to manage him at home (or on the field). We moved past the long period when he was a source of domestic contention, and the solution worked relatively well: he was kenneled outside or inside when I wasn't home; kids/Annie would interact minimally with him, letting him in/out, feeding him, small social interactions. But he's so strong and wild that they were (rightly) uncomfortable with him, and, because I wasn't home to handle him when I wasn't home, there was no way to truly solidify their hierarchy when I wasn't there.

Even when I'm home, he would get so twitchy that simple living time was futile. When we go to the park to play & train, most every day I'd sustain some form of minor, albeit painful, injury: bruised knees and ribs, torn fingers, smashed jaw. He is as loving a Mal as I've seen, and doesn't blow me off out of spite or headstrongness: he simply blows a mental gasket. It certainly hasn't helped to be able to train only intermittently, so that when we do get out w/ other people, his enthusiasm runneth FAR over.

I am so grateful for all of Michael's help, encouragement, wisdom, support, friendship. It pains me deeply to give up, yet I look at Shrike and know that he'll NEVER be a dog to hang out around the house with us, that the kids will NEVER be able to walk him or play with him w/o legit fear of getting hurt... Too, I then worry that he might get a hair across his ass one day when I'm on shift, and the consequences for the family who don't know how to read him would be unbearable for me.

Michael will be training him now, and likely solving many of the problems that I was unable to. It feels like failure to me, but I've tried to be realistic about my training abilities as well as my work/life/family situation. It hurts, and frustrates, but that's life. I really hope to see Michael and Shrike competing... He's been a crowd favorite EVERY time we stepped on the field.

Too, my threshold for the assholes, nutjobs, monomaniacal freaks, deluded halfwits, and emotional basket cases who comprise the thick, doughy middle of dogsports is far surpassed. I hate spending time with people who don't listen, who are paranoid and deluded, mean-spirited and petty (we get oodles of that at work). People who don't actually understand what it takes to train their dogs, from the dog's perspective, the trainer's, the decoy's, yet who badmouth others and gripe about everyone else's shortcomings and blame everyone but themselves. People who will never set foot on a trial field but kill the air of cyberspace with inane, poisonous rantings and interweb conspiracies. Good people, too, who love their dogs too much to see the dogs will never make it--that's so much time, energy, emotion, and money squandered, in minor-scale egocentric obsession.

I came back to decoying after breaking my leg. The ankle remains gimpy but I've done all right. I'm not young and the wear-tear on the body add up. To be really good requires dedication, hours of training, skill, and time. My ego and spirit like doing it, but when I'm getting beat up, or traveling far, and the dogs, the trainers, the judges, are trapped in their own basement of delusion and control, and undermining the better-nature of the sport, it's not worth it. Younger guys are motivated to do it. My shoulder injury last fall hasn't healed well enough to be free of worry, and that's a large factor against competing: don't do it if you're worried about what might happen. That's how injuries happen, too.

I love and am deeply grateful for all the people I've met, especially the small rare band of good people with clear minds and generous hearts. I've enjoyed time across the country with a range of good people putting forth big efforts to make something happen. That is great. I've learned a great deal. In many respects, dog training eased me through some hard straits of marriage (which is likely the opposite for most couples...) These things have been instrumental for me in the past seven years.

I can walk away from the bullshit and the nonsense and the crazed control freaks who threaten to ruin the dogsports with their ceaseless raving misconception that they are alpha-omega of the sport, even if their training sucks and their lack of generosity when it matters eclipses all their hard work and genuine dedication. I can walk away from the fucktards who don't know or do shit but blather on the internet, though their toxic spew is a real-life hazard for other people. I can gladly dismiss the shitty bitter folks. Fuck 'em.

My problem was, I just want a dog to do stuff with. Shrike is an awesome dog but too drivey for me to handle. Keeping him as a pet dog would have driven him/us mad. I want the girls to grow up with a dog they can help train, hang out with (w/o fear of getting obliterated every time they pet him), walk, do all that stuff. I was making a stretch to do it w/ a Mal, and I learned so very much through my time w/ Shrike.

Someone was needling me recently about spending so much time cycling rather than training. At least when I'm a sucky biker, I'm out there amid other sucky bikers who're working our collective sucky asses off to achieve something. There will be no internet sniping from the safety of your slovenly suburban compound: show up, ride your bike, (have fun), and shut the fuck up. I wish I could spend more time training dogs with good friends, but Oakland, Menomonie, Appleton, Boston, White Rock are far, far away.