It was a wise man who once said, “all good things must come to an end.” Perhapse it was groucho marx. I’m not good with stuff like that… I do know that Groucho said that “outside of a dog a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.”
Another wise man once said, “your blog is stupid.” Which is the chief reason this blog is not coming to an end.

Everything will now be done OVER HERE @ blog.iamindisposed.com.

Talk amongst yourselves…

-M

Yeah, I hope fiction wins. Reality is over rated (I’ve seen the video on youtube).

Here’s a link to a local blog “Evolution of the Me.” A great post. Something I can’t steal, but I can link to it.

And since I like to have visuals and it fits the topic:

-M

Carson Pass Hike

Originally uploaded by i am indisposed

Moving on:

This is Tahoe and his family. We are on the dangerous side of Tahoe in this pic. If you find yourself staring down the business end of this mutt, my advice would be to move, or grab some big pieces of bark to use as a shield!

Here’s some new friends of ours from Gardenerville. Read all about our trip to Fouth of July Lake on The Facility Bike Club Blog..

Great to meet you guys!

-M

Cyclist hit by car in downtown Reno, Nevada.

Callie hit by car

Originally uploaded by i am indisposed
One thing I worry about as I ride my bike around town is getting hit by a car. That’s why I wear a hard shell bmx/freeride helmet.

The thing I worry about even more is someone I love getting hit by a car, since my wife, sisters, brother-in-law and most of my friends ride around town a lot.

That second fear materialized yesterday when I got a call from my sister saying she got T-Boned by a car on her bike. She was riding East on Fourth Street when a westbound car turning south onto Lake hit her at the front wheel. She went over the car, by far the preferable vector, hit the windshield with her helmeted head and onto the ground. Hit her head twice, both times protected by the helmet. She said she remembered the impacts and that they didn’t hurt at all. The helmet is in ok shape. Scuffed and cracked a little. Certainly needs to be replaced.

The driver and several others stopped immeadiately, called police and EMTs. They patched her up with bandages, though she wasn’t actually bleeding anywhere. Everything on the wrap-up went well. The driver got a ticket and has insurance.

Her bike is a little messed up. The front wheel bearings are running rough indicating a bent axle, which means that the carbon forks are ruined. The rear wheel is out of true and the driveside chainstay is bent. Various other scratches and scuffs, but not horrible. She can’t ride it at least.

I had prepared a lecture for her about wearing a helmet, but thankfully she had already started wearing one regularly. For those of you who think a helmet can’t help you in a car-bike collision: you’re dead fucking wrong.

-M

This is my grandfather, John Henderson. He was a Navy Fighter pilot on an aircraft carrier in WW2. After his service he settled in Baton Rouge Louisiana with his wife Rosemary and raised the family which included my father, John.

This weekend my little sister got married at Galena Park in Reno, Nevada which is a few miles past the end of the four lane on the Mount Rose highway heading up to Lake Tahoe. It was a lovely ceremony.

About the same time I was racing through rush hour traffic in my Forester trying to get back to the park after having failed to get back to her house to retrieve a sash in time that was part of her dress, it was let out that the wings you see in this photo were misplaced. Most likely they fell and were lost somewhere in the park. They were to be worn by my sister as a token both old and borrowed.

We went back the next day with a metal detector to search the grass with no luck. Something like this is both unusual and noteworthy and if any one hears anything please contact me.

Granddaddy worked as a lumberjack in Washington with his brother Eugene, who’s still kicking @ 93. In Louisiana Johnny had a farm in Baton Rouge and a Christmas tree farm in Clinton. He loved forests, so it will be no great tragedy if this memento lives out it’s existence in the pine forests of the Virginia Range should it not be found.

Still, as physical remainders like these inevitably slip away, we’re left with only the relics of the heart, and times like this bring them back as strong as ever.

-M

I heard on channel 8 news from Ann Cutler (I’d change that If I were you, too close you know…) that there was a crash @ Liberty and Sinclair necessitating “extrication.” So naturally I rushed out to get a looksee.

This is the second time in a week that there has been a nasty mashup in this area. Last time it was @ Liberty and Virginia, just a stone’s roll away.

What I’m wondering is this: How does shit like this happen? At these times in the AM traffic is barely moving in that area.

I’m reading the book Deep Survival by Lawrence Gonzales. It’s about the psychology, pathology, and physics of accidents. In the chapter The Sandpile Effect he describes wilderness travel (climbing, kayaking, mountaineering…) as a critical situation in a self organizing system (complexity theory), or an iterating reaction(chaos theory) in which any seemingly insignificant detail could dramatically alter an outcome. Further, in such critical systems failures are inevitable, but not mandatory.

He says that accidents are normal and not preventable due to the dynamic nature of the system. Though large accidents don’t happen every time, we can’t stop them from happening. We can however avoid participating in them.

So when you’re out there on the road, remember that the situation is inherently unstable and can collapse, or not, at any moment and adjust your view of the world accordingly.

The word “experienced” often refers to someone who’s gotten away with doing the wrong thing more frequently than you have.”  Lawrence Gonzales, Deep Survival.

Impatience is a disease.

-M

I dreamed I was a rancher and the people in the old photographs on the kids walls were me and mine: my own pastoral utopia with a meadow and a creek. I dug in the meadow to channel water for our cattle. Hunted raccoons with a lanky lop-eared dog. I smelled mud and grass and manure, carried a knife in every pocket. When I looked up I saw a girl waive from the house telling me to come in for lunch. I saw a sandwich and potato chips. I smelled coffee in a stove-top percolator and home-made donuts, and the girl smiling at me. I held my shovel in my hands as I ate. My back ached no matter how straight I sat. She wore modern clothes, street clothes; sneakers, and denim. And though I ate and drank continuously I never grew full, and my hunger and thirst followed me out of the dream to the kid’s old ranch house.

I opened my eyes and saw the old woman floating on the edge of the room talking about someone named Horace. “He’s just a boy,” she said. “And I worry.”

I rubbed my eyes and looked at my watch. It was 12:00. I’d slept for three hours. The woman was standing in the doorway that lead back into the house. “Pardon?” I said.

“Horace,” she said. “He goes to town alone. I worry. Please take care of him.”

That was his name then. Horace wasn’t a name that belonged in the new world, and there wasn’t much else about him that did. I looked around the parlor and couldn’t find anything to prove I’d not traveled across the great wide valley to a time where boys are named Horace and polyester cowboy shirts are still commercially available, mother-of-pearl snaps and all–maybe paired with designer blue jeans and a messenger bag, a smart-phone in the breast pocket, stylish eye glasses. The image all at once became familiar; not quite awake yet, I wondered where I could get a shirt like that.

“Oh don’t worry, uhh, Ma’am,” I said rubbing my eyes. “I think he can take care of himself.”

“Please!” she urged. And I wondered what it was about me that made her think I could offer anyone protection. I wasn’t sure I was ready for the responsibility. Riding shotgun to the kid in that dusty littered pickup truck, I figured I was in good hands. I couldn’t likely turn the tables on him. He was young, but seemed old; the way he walked, the way he spoke, what little of that he did. I hardly felt qualified. Aren’t these people supposed to distrust outsiders like me? What had the boy told her in those hushed words deep in the house?

“OK,” I said. And her expression didn’t change. “I’ll make sure he gets home alright.”

She didn’t say anything else, just disappeared back into the dusty ancient structure. I stepped out onto the porch, the sun and heat reflecting off the ground and sage up into my face and stood at the edge of the veranda lamenting my choices in apparel while waited for the boy to return.

 -M

A lot of babies look like pot-bellied pigs when they’re first born. -Ben Craig

I met Ed Adkins a week or so ago. He was in a gin-induced anti Tom Green rant, but seemed like a charming enough fellow. His wife, Heidi, was there too. Super nice people, and funny too!

I got a “Twitter” yesterday that he was doing a show with his “comedy troupe” @ The Green Room. It had been a while since I’d been to TGR or seen anyone perform anything so I hit it. He said it would be, “way better than Whose Line Is It Anyway“. Small shoes IMHO.

Anyway, Stage Fright (Ed, Ben Craig and Mia Wolf) was pretty funny. A bit of audience interaction, kind of like being in class again (for me). I was out of heckling practice. Couldn’t come up with any good prompts when they asked.

They did 5 or 6 improv bits with different themes. It was pretty funny. In one bit Ed played a crime suspect being interrogated by two cops. The premise was that Ed had been caught mowing the lawn @ Stone Heng with Michael Vick. Ben and Mia had to get him to guess the crime, location and accomplice, and the audience would cheer as he got closer to the right answer.

My favorite bit was one in which Ed was giving a slide show on Sexually Transmitted Diseases. He would introduce the slide which was being acted out by Ben and Mia. Then he’d have to turn, see the slide, and somehow try to tie it into what he had already been blabbing about. It was funny: “Have you ever flossed puss my friends!?”

You should definitely check them out next time they play. Ed said they’re hoping to land a regular weekly venue, but until then they will be opening the open-mic comedy night @ the Great Basin Brewery starting next month.

More info @ allaboutacting.com.

-M

it’s pretty incestuous here… -Kyle Kozar

So yesterday I was chilling with the RBP drinkin’ PBR and chatting with Kyle, Noah, Mike, Reid, and the gang. The above quote came from me asking questions about how they came together, got hooked up with the people they’re hooked up with.

I rolled from there to meet Smella and Mr. and Mrs. RenoRambler for pints of Guinness @ Ceol. As we were getting ready to leave, the bartender, Scott, asked me if I knew Nat Pellman, which I do. I guess he heard me mention the 24 hour race I did last may and thought there might be a connection, even though Nat moved to Seattle a year ago.

So there you go colinloretz

( Web host service purchased along with a new domain name for a social experiment I want to do. “Six Degrees of Reno” anyone?)

and mrjerz:

(six degrees? you’ll have a hard time getting to three).

-M

Ron @ Ceol

This is what blogs are for.-M