A day in the sun.

Follow the link and watch it. Seriously. I'll know if you don't.

http://www.c-spanarchives.org/program/ID/233635&start=7039&end=7268

The Unpleasant Harold.

3100BC-
The councilors of Urik voted that Unpleasant Harold was more trouble than he was really worth. A vessel was prepared that would contain the rain god in mild discomfort. Made of heavily cuneiformed baked clay and lac resin, this large vase should stand the ravings and bangings of the bastard rain god until the end of time.
A candied grasshopper (Unpleasant Harold's favorite) was placed in the vessel as a lure. When the damp deity tried to grab his snack, the lid came down, trapping the little shit forever. The vase was thrown into the ocean. There was much rejoicing.

Very recent history-
A filthy vase that had been tossed about in all the worlds seas was bumping against the wreck of the Isabella. A small crack that had been formed five hundred years before (a squid had tried to reproduce with it) suddenly opened and the lid fell right off. Unpleasant Harold was free!
The first thing that Unpleasant Harold did was to pull out his iPhone and check email. No new emails.
The second thing that Unpleasant Harold did was to get on check his twitter. 198,223,125 new tweets! The most recent one read "Bob_Tres Looking forward to a week of riding. This sunny Oregon weather is wonderful. Tryin' 4 200mi."

This really angered Unpleasant Harold as he was a bit of a spelling and grammer nazi. And the parts with "sunny" and "weather" and "wonderful". "We'll see about that!" said the decanted dickhead.

Unpleasant Harold brought his hands together, and there was evaporation. Unpleasant Harold used a rude finger gesture and there was condensation. Unpleasant Harold said a naughty word and there was precipitation. Unpleasant Harold touched himself...just a little bit...and there was a prevailing wind to carry the squishy air to Oregon.
"That will do for that bobtres and his bike ride and his grammar!" The soaked god of Sumer wades out of the waves while checking his iPhone to see what is new in porn.

Today-
"Weakly ride report." Bob Tres writes. "Rained out."

 

Roger the squirrel vs. herds of radiation-altered scientologists

Roger the squirrel usually had good luck hunting the plains for scientologists. As he was munching on his latest catch, he noticed that there was a light green glow around his food. Roger, being a squirrel and not being very particular about these things, kept munching.

After waking from a long, long sleep, Roger found himself a wee bit taller. And a wee bit faster. And a wee bit smarter. With his newfound ability, he was twice as efficient at hunting the wild, wiley scientologists. His eating had never been better; his waistline had never been larger.

Waking up from a nap at about midnight, he saw a faint glow on the horizon. Upon investigating it, it appeared to be yet another radioactive scientologist.

"Nom, nom, NOM!" said Roger.

Long, long sleep. Faster, taller, smarter! Roger looked for more glowing lunatics.

Three years went by. Roger became the size of a city bus, and songs were sung about him all around the world. When a scientologist started to glow, he wet himself in terror and knew his days were numbered.

Roger prospered.

THE END.

Another weakly ride report.

It's getting easier.
I started riding in late June when it was finally dry enough to go outside without a lifejacket and rowboat. I was doing short rides, coming back with sore "seat regions" and aching legs.  My goal for the summer was to work up to 50 mile rides with no major drama. I think that I made it.

This week:
Monday- 25 miles solo, around town with some hills. I pretty much followed the route that Darthweasel and I had taken a few days before.

Thursday- 31 pretty quick miles. DW and I went mucking about some parks and trails. In a hundred yard stretch I narrowly avoided a toddler, a squirrel, a squirrel, and a squirrel. All four had walked right in front of me and stopped. I took that as a sign to slow down a bit.
DW was making the hills bow to him. We went back to the fast narrow twisty trail and endangered our lives a couple of times.

Saturday- 48 miles. I had been wanting to ride the Banks to Vernonia state trail for quite a while. I had ridden it once in 1998 and there had been huge improvements since. I took some pics for your viewing pleasure. Not that kind of pleasure. You sicko.

I'm beginning at the Manning trailhead, which is about 5 miles from the actual start of the trail where there is no parking. It's 106 miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses. (oops, wrong movie)

Most of the trail looks like a green tunnel through the forest. There is 18 miles of paved trail and 3 miles of packed gravel. The first 9.5 miles are gently uphill then a bit of up and down after. With the exception of a few horses and a person every other mile I had the trail to myself.

I suspect someone had smoked some of Oregon's largest export crop before naming the trails. Click the picture to embiggen.

Stopping for a rest. A much older gentleman than myself rode with me for a while then took off up the hill like a weasel-bit badger. I tried to keep up for a while but my lungs caught on fire and my legs melted and came off. Then I turned in to a newt.

After reaching the end of the state park I continued into Vernonia and went around the creatively named "Vernonia Lake". It was like being dropped in to Texas. Everybody was wearing either camo or clothes/hats with flags on them (American and Dixie flags that is). Large, rude, and well beer'd. The lake was nice though, and there is a shooting range nearby, if you get bored fish'n.

The ride back to the car was mostly downhill, fast and fun. Watch out for the horse's (slightly used) breakfasts though. They are hard to spot.

On another subject. Fucking Drummers, How do they work?

New blog topic: Weekly (weakly?) ride report.

So I am going attempt a weekly ride report. It will be my cycling diary of sorts, so I can look back and say "That jerk last September though he knew what he was talking about. What a jerk!"

So here is my week:
Got in a couple of 6 mile fast rides in the evenings. Had to catch my breath a couple of times, pushing pretty hard. There is one brutish hill that I need climb on my way home on my short ride route. This time last year I climbed it at 6mph, recently that has risen to 14mph. It is my benchmark hill really.

Went for a ride with Darthweasel Thursday. We took some old paths that I had not ridden in 20 years, climbed 1 short but nasty hill. I had to stop at the top for a couple of minutes. Maybe 7 miles or so.

Today, after some fun with a flat tire, Darthweasel and I meandered about town for a while. DW was fast today, I had to work to keep up quite a few times. I later figured about 30 miles. One road that I'll not ride on again as the shoulder is very narrow and I'm not the type to impede traffic. We found a trail along the Tualitin River that was amazing. Fast, twisty and narrow. Fun!  Steep at the end though.

That's it. What, like you wanted more?

Squirrel Noir

There was a rather unhappy squirrel that lived in a nearby forest. Let's call him Roger.

One day a nice deer suggested to Roger that he go and talk to the river. Perhaps the wise river could help Roger be happy.

Roger walks off down to the river. "Mr. River," says Roger, "I am not happy."
"Why Roger, What are you unhappy about?" asks the River.
"Mr River, I want things that I cannot buy." says Roger.
The River replies "Roger, buying things is only a distraction. Things cannot make you happy."
"Mr. River, I have not been promoted at work and I know that I deserve to be." Roger asserts.
"Roger, look at yourself from your employers point of view. They probably place you where you are most needed." the River explains.
"Mr. River, I cannot run as fast or jump as high as I want to." Roger whines.
"Roger, you need to be willing to work hard for what you want to achieve. If you still cannot reach your goal, then perhaps your goal was too high. Be realistic." the River sighs tiredly.
"Mr River, My wife and family are not who I wanted them to be. They will not change!" Roger grouches.
"Roger, you cannot reshape your family to suit you. Perhaps you should accept them." the River sniffs.

"Mr. River, My real problem is that I am not rich. Why didn't you tell me? Why did I have to figure it out for myself? I cannot buy my wife a fur coat, I cannot afford good running shoes, I cannot buy a Brooks Brothers suit to impress my boss with, I cannot buy a new Escalade to drive about in."

"Roger, There are yellow rocks in my bed, Roger, retrieve them and you can trade them for money. Perhaps then you will be happy." the River says.
"Mr. River, Really?!"
"Really Roger. Be warned, this is a big risk, and if you value my wisdom you will not take it."

-A little while later
"Mr. River, what where those bubbles you had in you a little while ago? Where is Roger?" asks the Deer as she approaches the water.
"Fucking squirrels. They never listen." says the River.