Simon: Need I Say More?

Writing a regular blog is complicated. Especially since my life is not. Today, I would like to highlight a very special person. Not special in that he requires his own bus, but special in that he brings a very unique flair to the Tsunami. Simon is/was possibly one of the easiest kids to raise. In fact, he was so easy that he tricked us into having #4 (Noah). Although kids are not accidents, he was certainly a surprise. In fact, he was such a surprise that it was not until we reached Tok, Alaska on our way to Virginia that we realized there was going to be a new addition. We stopped for dinner and Emily said "I am not feeling well, I am going back to the room." I thought....well it would not be appropriate to post what I was thinking. On a side note many of you may not have heard of Tok.

If you have not heard of Tok, you are not alone. It is indicated by the A

Simon was the smallest of the litter, weighing in at less then 8 pounds. I always thought of him as sickly and frail. So when he was old enough we started a strict exercise regime. You may ask yourself what kind of regime you would put a 20 month child on. Primarily it consists of pushing your older brother around and climbing stuff.

The Basement Climbing wall I built to work on dexterity, strength, and muscle endurance (mainly out of boredom).

Instead of using tackle dummies, Simon uses Vance. I love the look on Vance's face.

The results are amazing. Simon has turned into a work of art; perfection, much like something Michelangelo would sculpt. Going back to my art appreciation days, I found the following picture. It is fascinating the resemblance that Michelangelo's David has to my Simon.

Although it is anatomically correct, for Simon's dignity I blocked out his package. He will thank me later.

Take this picture for example, not only does my lawn look like it is grass and not weeds, but Simon also looks as though his chest and abs were chiseled from the finest Italian marble. Also take note of his ability to rip the chain off of my bike with a single hand.

Why does he always go for the greasiest parts?

Another interesting feature is the fact that Simon does not appear to have a neck. Take a look for yourself. I have looked for it on numerous occasions, this seems to make him better suited for running into things (like his brother).

No neck.

Again, no neck.

The amazing thing is that for such a sweet boy, he is absolutely a small tank. In true Tsunami fashion, he creates a swath of destruction. I suppose that is why Emily started calling him the "Simonater," which then was shortened to "Nater"

I think that he could have posed as a stunt double for Arnold, what do you think?

The Best Muffin in the World

I would like to start off by saying that I have had a great life. I am not trying to brag, I am truly grateful for the experiences I have had. I have had the opportunity to see wilds of Alaska, New Mexico, Utah, and Montana where I have learned that browns, grays, and reds are beautiful.

I have had the opportunity to travel around Denmark, true that takes about 1 1/2 days. I have enjoyed exotic locations like Dohuk, Iraq where I saw Mazi Mart, the Wal-Mart of Iraq (only less rednecks).

I am in Dohuk, Iraqi Kurdistan. I would love to return someday and hike these mountains

MAZI MART, anyone in Iraq need a huge flat screen t.v.?

I have taken chances and made a lot of mistakes. The best part about this is after making so many mistakes I have run out of pride. I believe that this is the pinnacle the hors categorie of life. Everyone should strive for pure unadulterated humility. When you are out of pride, you are no longer afraid to take chances because you have nothing to lose. In fact, I have a saying that epitomizes this concept "you ain't lived unless you have crapped yourself in Iraq." I would like to say that I have in fact lived, on several occasions. Trust me, they are serious when they say don't eat the food and water.

I still find myself at the bottom from time to time. But once again, it is not until you taste the bitter that you can truly enjoy the sweet. In this case the sweet comes in the form of a blueberry muffin. So here it goes.....


Four months after expected, I returned to my beautiful wife, daughter, son, and a brand new bike who were eagerly awaiting my arrival. It sat in the shop for the extra four months that I was gone. I was so excited to ride it that I immediately spent $160 on Nokian studded tires. I would ride up and down the road that wrapped around the ski hill on Fort Wainwright. I would ride to work even though it was 30 below. When it was time to move, I carefully packed it in a borrowed bike box and put it in the back of the van so I could ride it in warm weather when we got to Montana. Keep in mind that on March 2, 2007 it was -40 degrees in Fairbanks, Montana would be warm no matter what.

I purchased a cyclocross bike so that I would be able to use it on the road and some trails. My father in-law had just purchased a new Colnago C-50 and we were both excited to go for a ride. We decided to ride from Helena to Clancy, about 25 miles round trip. I was excited because this would be my inaugural "road" ride. I had always mountain biked and I did not know what to expect. What I did know was that nothing could beat me, I had just gotten back from a 16 month stint in Iraq and I was one tough guy. Besides, what I lack in ability I have always made up with stubbornness and brute strength.

Steve and I took off and ended up on the interstate pedaling South on I-15. As we rode down the interstate, I passed Steve because he was going to slow. The first 7 miles flew by, I passed through Montana City and looked back to see the distant silhouette of Steve. It was at that point that I noticed a slight crosswind that was coming from about the 10 o'clock direction. Determined I pressed forward. I cranked harder and harder, gaining even more distance on Steve. The 12.5 miles to Clancy flew by, I loved my bike and road riding, even though I had 32c cyclocross tires instead of 22c road tires. I waited and a short time later, Steve rolled up. He stretched for a couple of minutes and we headed back.

Once we were back on the interstate, I noticed the wind was coming from the 2 o'clock direction. This made no sense since I had a slight headwind on the way out, how could I have a head wind on the way back. So I ate a powerbar and proceeded to pedal after about 5 more miles I was done. Bonked.....B.O.N.K.E.D! I looked and Steve was once again a silhouette, only this time he was in front.

At one point I think he easily had 3/4 to one mile on me. Once we got back to Helena, he slowed up considerably and waited for me. I had made it back to Helena but one obstacle remained. Getting to Steve's house. Steve's house is located on L'Alpe d'Huez.

Notice that the very thing that makes the view from his house so beautiful, also makes it a living hell to get back to after a hard ride!

I would have died if I had to climb at that very moment. I think Steve knew I had blown up at about mile 17 so he suggested we stop for a muffin at a local bakery. I reluctantly agreed even though I had no money with me (yet another lesson learned). I ate a what little pride I had left but chased it down with the best muffin I think I have ever eaten.

I killed the rest of the ride, shifting into my highest gear and riding hard up the hill. I passed Steve and turned onto his street. As he came around the corner, I learned another valuable lesson. Real road bikes don't have a third chain ring.

But hey, I have crapped myself in Iraq, I can use my granny gear if I want!

p.s. Did I mention Steve is nearly twice my age!

Moving at the Speed of Smell

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to take a trip back in time. Instead of the flux capacitor going to work once I hit 88 m.p.h. in my Delorean like Back to the Future. I was able to travel through the speed of smell. Even though the speed of smell is slightly slower it was amazing, in one day I managed to travel to Montana and Iraq thanks to my olfactory system.


To begin with, I found it very difficult to get going in the morning. Because I didn't prepare the night before, everything went wrong as I was headed out the door. I almost drove, I am glad I didn't though since I got to travel in time. Every spring and fall the National Park Service does some controlled burns on the Petersburg National Battlefield to get rid of deadfall. As I took my regular shortcut through the battlefield I quickly noticed the smokey smell. As I got closer to the end of the road, I was no longer in Virginia; the smell and density of the smoke reminded me of so many summer forest fires in Montana. I miss Montana.


That quickly passed as I raced down the exit onto Route 36, hoping that no traffic was coming down the hill so I could have more then 2 inches on the "shoulder" where cars pass at 55 m.ph. It was not long until I reached the most dreadful point of my ride, the landfill. The air was right, muggy and stagnant, which meant the smell of the dump would be at its prime. Like most days, the smell of the dump takes me back to Iraq. For a few brief moments the smell takes me to dreaded places such as Ma'ash Market in Mosul or Obaydi in Baghdad. I don't miss Iraq.


Although I would prefer Montana over Iraq, riding past the dump reminds me how good we really have it. At least we have a dump. I always increase my speed to get through that section of the ride. Even though it brings back many terrible memories, I also get the opportunity to reminisce about some very dear friends and a couple of good times as well. This is a bad time of year for me, I will reflect on this at a later time. But for now I am back in Virginia and have to get ready for tomorrow's adventure.

More Chicken

Saturday, the kids were riding their bikes in the alley. Olivia likes to go as fast as she can, she has brakes but doesn't like to use them. She has an odd variation of Chicken. Instead of two willing participants testing their bravery (or stubbornness) by riding at each other, Olivia tests my patience. Much to my chagrin she likes to see how close she can get to Vance while riding as fast as she can. Unlike chicken, Vance has nothing to prove and is not a willing participant nor do I approve of this game. He is still on training wheels and does not use his brakes either, mainly because he doesn't seem to grasp the concept.

Well it finally happened, Olivia came flying down the hill at a pretty good rate of speed, only this time they both swerved in the same direction. Oddly enough, Olivia was the only one that was "injured" in this event. Nothing a couple of small Hello Kitty band-aids couldn't handle. I will say that it was a pretty good tangle of pink streamers, basket, Olivia, and cheap bikes.

Here is the kicker, when I not so calmly asked why she did that, she stated "I was looking at the birds." Now I am not one to call my children liars, but I watched the whole event. I eventually got her to confess to it. I am not one to punish those that feel the effects of their own poor decision making. After all, how many times have I learned by burning myself. I was just glad that Vance came away unscathed.

A Picture Says 1,000 Words

I love digital cameras. At one time I was a photography enthusiast. I had a very basic black and white darkroom in the basement. I took numerous classes on taking photographs and developing them. After many years, I came to the conclusion that I was a terrible photographer. On top of that, I could not afford the film, chemicals, and paper for crummy photography. If I had some talent, it would have been worth pursuing.

Along came the digital camera. What an invention. You can take as many photos as you want and delete the crap later. Back when we only had two children, we decided to have a professional family photo. This was great, for a ton of money we could have a great picture taken. It took 79 shots to get 1 picture of Emily, Olivia, Vance, and me to look at the camera and smile. Plus he told us how to dress and pose. He fixed hair (not mine of course) and other distractions.

Below is a home photograph of the six of us. Notice how we are all looking in the general direction of the camera. Also, notice that my belt is hanging out and my tie is tucked into it.

Now look at the next photo, notice how no one is looking in the general direction of the camera and my tie is still in my belt. We have several examples of this and only one of the above. This is due to the fact that there is no processing time. Get it and go. Or, as Poison would say “lick the wind.” Sorry, I am still trying to find an application for that crazy lyric.

Also, this is a self portrait of me in my natural element.

Sorry, wrong picture. I don’t have a unibrow or mustache like Frida Kahlo, come to think of it, I don't have that much hair on my head either. Wouldn't that be nice to have (except for the unibrow). Once again, it is nice to have the right equipment of which I do not have. Not only am I lacking in talent, but I am also limited to a digital camera with a 10 second timer. In order to get this picture I had to try about a dozen times and it was still bad.

That being said, I actually got more cardio sprinting to my bike than I did from the entire rest of the ride.

Lick the Wind

I have been suffering from sleep deprivation, I apologize to my one follower for not posting anything new during the past couple of days.

In 1996 I started my first freshman year of college. I started a semester later then many of my friends due to my interest in everything but school. On a positive note, I did graduate from college after 7 years, it is true I could have been a doctor, but fishing and biking were very important too. During that first term, I took Art Appreciation. This was an enlightening class in which we learned to recognize different periods of architecture, art, and music. I found the music to be the most challenging due to the fact that it is so complex. “Listen, did you hear that bell” the professor would…profess. “That is symbolic of the cannon that started the battle.” I have great inner dialogue and I would say to myself “That sounds like a little bell, not a big gun.” As I said, it took me seven years to get out of college.

Well I am proud to say that even after all of the years that have gone by, I have not lost my ability to get the most out of music. Music is a wonderful, it is relaxing, energizing, and helps a person sleep through both incoming and outgoing mortar attacks. I have learned to listen to the subtly of music. Recently I have started listening to my I pod while mountain biking. I have found that not only does it improve my performance; I have also started riding longer. In order to keep myself a well rounded individual I have assigned the following genres their own day:

Monday: Rock (Rolling Stones, AC/DC, Bruce Springsteen)

Tuesday: Indie Rock (I don’t know, but neither does anyone else, that is why they are Indie)

Wednesday: 80’s Pop/electronic (New Order, Moby, Depeche Mode)

Thursday: 80’s Glam Bands (Poison, Guns N’ Roses)

Friday: Def Leppard (Def Leppard)

Saturday: Random/Mixed (anything that comes on, this can be a downer)

Sunday: Day of rest

Now, I know what you are thinking “Def Leppard is not a genre of music!” To which I would respond that it is in fact its own genre for the following reasons:

1. They have a one armed drummer.

2. They are only one of five rock bands with two original studio albums selling over 10 million records.

3. They have a one armed drummer.

I think that those are three very valid reasons.

You may also be thinking that it is not a very rounded list of music. There is a simple explanation for this. I have found that it is hazardous to listen to classical music while I ride. Last time I was riding on the battlefield and listening to Beethoven’s Symphony Number 2 in D major (opus 36), I found myself concentrating so hard on the differences between the first and second movement, I hit a water bar and crashed. However, there is nothing quite as invigorating as riding to the third movement, I love a good scherzo, but I do get somewhat turned off by the bassoon.

The last Thursday I rode on the battlefield, I found myself listening to Poison, it was Glam Band day after all. In particular, Ride the Wind jumped out at me like a car door on a narrow street. This song was written at Poison’s maturity as Glam Rock artists, much like Beethoven’s String Quartets 1-6 (Opus 18). Yes, I just compared Poison to Beethoven. Stay with me here. My acute ability to analyze music apparently failed. Is that a surprise to anyone, the depth of Poison’s music and lyrics could catch any music connoisseur off guard. I was trying to figure out some of the lyrics, although I didn’t wreck, it was a serious distraction for the remainder of the ride. When I got home I did a lyric search on VH1. I have linked the lyrics, once again, the depth is amazing. I encourage anyone to study and digest them. After I spent hours pondering them it occurred to me why this song stuck out, Bret Michaels not only had an insight to my soul, but I am convinced he wrote it about bicycling.

I have attached some of the applicable lyrics and through my outstanding education I will provide you with an in analysis. The lyrics are in black and my comments are in red:

Hearts of fire: My heart when dove hunters shot in my general direction last weekend

Streets of stone: Of course this is in reference to the Hell of the North, the Paris-Roubaix

Modern warriors saddle iron horses of chrome: I am clearly a warrior and I am convinced the recording industry forced him to go with chrome v. ChroMoly. Additionally, I forgive him for not using scandium aluminum, that would sound a bit awkward.

Taste the wild: Like the time the bug flew in my mouth

Lick the wind: I have no clue

Their jaws dropping to the floor: Clearly the reaction I get when I walk into the rural Virginia gas station on route 10 to get more water.

Steel made of soul and sin: My Salsa El Mariachi 29'r, it is steel. I hope that there was no sinning involved in its production

Battle scars and Lonely Bars: This is in reference to the scar tissue that exists from crashing on Mount Helena and the ridge line trail. Of course most would think of the lonely bar as an Establishment. No, not me I think of the poor Bell Lap Handle Bars sitting on my bike waiting for me and my hands to caress them when we don't get the quality hours of bonding time.

Only the Bravest Try: This one hurts a little. I consider myself brave but I do not intend to ride at my non-epic ride location until random killers are caught.

To completely understand the significance of this song, I recommend you read at a pace where you can slowly digest the true meaning. Then watch it, I am sure Beethoven had similar issues with his performances.

By the way, the lyrics that had me stumped on my ride was "lick the wind."

In retrospect, I tend to ride with my mouth gaping and tongue hanging out. Could that be "licking the wind?"

Next week I will analyze a personal favorite from Kiss. You guessed it Love Gun.

The Even Less Then Non-Epic Ride: an adventure just the same!

Saturday was an interesting day to say the least. A couple of weeks ago, I had been planning a “non-epic” overnight adventure. I was telling a friend about it when she casually mentioned that that a couple had been killed near there. I thought nothing of it until I was doing some detailed planning. She was not kidding and I am sorry, I prefer to stay about 250 miles away from random Appalachian killings.

So I had to make a decision about what I should do on this last weekend of summer. Here are the options I had:

Option A:

Somewhat disappointed about canceling my “non-epic” ride I came up with what I will refer to as the “even less then non-epic” ride. My scheme started with me riding from my house to Williamsburg, VA. Route 5 is an absolutely amazing ride. My wife would depart from the house about 2 hours later and we would link up at the Chickahominy River Park, where the kids could play for a while. Then we would do some shopping for kids clothes and backpacks at the Outlet Stores. I knew this would guarantee some SAG support without any qualms. This could be peaceful and relaxing, what could go wrong with this plan.

Option B:

A couple of days ago a friend of mine asked if I planned on dove hunting with him this weekend. As I had forgotten that dove hunting was this weekend I had not been planning on it, instead I was planning option A. For those who are unaware of the “sport” of dove hunting it is an annual redneck ritual that involves two of their favorite activities. The first is shooting guns…..need I say more. The second is wearing real tree camouflage. Real Tree camouflage is a less of a ritual and more of a habit I suppose. But none the less both are combined in this fall activity and that is what makes it special.

To understand the difficult decision I had to make, I will go into a detailed description of option B. It involves getting up extremely early and driving to an area where doves live. Imagine if you will, an area the size of a football field with people spread out about every 20 yards or so, all the way around. Yes, I am talking about the Polish Firing Squad scenario. Many people stand next to their trucks, many sit in chairs, but all are poised and properly camouflaged, waiting for the unsuspecting dove to fly over the wood line. Then all of a sudden a dove flies over the trees and proceeds down the gauntlet of life, everyone begins shooting. If you are like me and enjoy a true underdog story, you find yourself actually hoping that the dove evades the barrage of pellets and makes it across the field (even as I shoot). If the dove actually makes it across the field, it can look forward to this scenario several times.

If you are not from the South (I am from the West) you may not understand a couple of things and you may be asking yourself “if you are in an area surrounded with people and trucks why would you bother to wear Real Tree Camoflage?” Another question you may ask is “holy crap, is that guy pointing his shotgun in my direction?” Again, you may ask “if I do hit the bird, with so many people shooting at it who actually claims it.” There are countless other questions you or I have thought of, the important thing is that you don’t ask them. If you do you risk of looking “stupid” or being called a Yankee (once again I am from the West, Southerners do not seem to recognize the Louisiana Purchase, you are from the South or you are a Yankee).

In order to prevent you from making the same foolish mistake, I will answer the above questions and then continue with the option that I chose. If you are standing next to a white ½ ton truck do you need to wear camouflage? The answer is yes, you will blend nicely with the Real Tree paneling on your truck, don’t forget the rear window cover!

The answer to the next question is yes, he is pointing a shot gun in your general direction. However, wearing sunglasses and a wide brim hat help ease the pain as the pellets come raining down on you. The last one is easy, who the heck knows who killed the dove; it goes to the person standing closest or the one with the fastest dog. The bottom line is that they taste like crap and they are about the size of a parakeet and it takes 100 of them to feed a small family.

I hope that you have found this to be informative and will prevent you from looking foolish when you ask the same questions I did. You can also see that I was in a quandary. Option A or option B, what would you have done?

Well, I chose option A, the 40 mile ride from my house to Chickahominy River Park. Much to my surprise I got a taste of option B as well. Unintentionally it turned out to be the best of both worlds, sort of. Route 5 is a gorgeous ride; the road is part of U.S. Bicycle Route 76 which has about 20 of the 50 miles of bike lane complete. Route 5 meanders through the old plantation of Eastern Virginia, trees cover the highway keeping it cool. Not to mention it finally cooled down to 89 degrees which is great fall weather.

So there I was meandering past corn field after corn field and plantation after plantation enjoying the day. I was enjoying the scenery when I noticed a couple of doves flying overhead. I thought to myself, “I am so glad I chose option A.” Then my sense of peace and solitude were quickly broken when all of a sudden I heard the familiar sounds of gunshots. Yes, there I was wearing tight shorts with a barrage of pellets raining down on me. All I could think was “what a hell of a way to go.” As I have noted before, I am a combat vet, I am not particularly fond of being shot at. I think at that point I could have beaten Tom Boonen on that sprint through the corn fields. Fortunately for my nerves the remainder of the day was uneventful. After all, isn't that what we look for in a ride?

I wonder if I can get Real Tree spandex shorts or jersey?