Quadro-Frankia

Like a good rock opera, this image says it all.

Act I: Shock. This self-indulgent image of some bloody lunatic named Frank provided a stinging rebuke of Bryan's initial Face-Painting Arsonist post. Awesome!

Act II: Disillusionment characterizes the second part. A few days passes with only a couple comments on Frank. Surely, there's gonna be more. But after weeks of the same thing, the viewer is only left with a retina-burn of Frank and a cold, hollow feeling. Is this the same Ace Face that we once knew? Is The Punk and the Godfather known as fredcube even aware that he's larger than life due to his loyal fan base? Who are you, anyway?

Act III: Is It in My Head, or is everyone feeling the inconsolable frustration at this point? In this act, the blogo-viewer is ripped with angst about the static nature of things at fredcube. We've had Frank for an entire month -- I need something fresh! So leaving no other option, I came to realize that I've Had Enough. Fine. Good riddance! I'll pass my time at the mountain biking forum reading sweet postings about Chipotle burritos.

The Final Act: Call Dr. Jimmy, I'm going insane!! No offense, but the other blogs lack the dry, sardonic humor of fredcube.

Yet somewhere in the midst of this depressing stupor, a sudden moment of pristine clarity overwhelmed me... like the sort of noise you'd expect to hear in heaven, if there is such a place. It's gonna be ok. In fact, the insight is validated by a recent comment posted by Fred on Munson's blog. Indeed, there's hope! Still in a weakened state, yet refreshed by this late development, this blogoviewer is now steely resolved to go forth.

I can't sleep and I lay and I think
The night is hot and black as ink
Oh God, I need a drink of cool cool rain

Frank can stay on your blog, Fred. Keep him front and center for another month, a year, forever. Once an obstacle, this icon is seemingly an omnipresent inspiration.

This Little Piggy

One of the things I've enjoyed learning this year is how to dress for cold weather riding.

Last winter, it was about running. I learned how to manage just about any foul weather, even a blizzard. I don't recommend the latter unless absolutely necessary, like if you're hypothetically stuck at work, the city shuts down, MAT recalls all their buses and your boss is calling for T.P.S. reports from the warmth and coziness of his/her home. Not that that's happened to me. More than once. Last winter. At 2:52pm on March 1, 2007 when it was 27 F, snowing with 31.1 mph steady winds and 43.7 mph gusts. If this happens to you, bundle up with everything you've got, put yaktrax on your boots, say a prayer, call your loved ones and take care of any unsettled necessary business. Then, say another prayer for a tail wind, head outside and run straight down the middle of the street. Don't worry about traffic as cars are stuck, buried, or in the hypothetical case of my boss, is parked securely in the warmth and coziness of her attached garage.

But I digress. This post is on what I've discovered on my last four cold rides: my toes can't take it.

T-Day +1 Ride with Murphini at 11:00 AM in KC.
26.1 F with 9mph Winds. From head to toe: helmet, helmet hat, muffler; silk thermal, long sleeve tech shirt, long sleeve woolie, glove liners, mittens, tights, bib overalls, smart wool socks and road shoes. After the initial shock, the head and torso were very warm. Legs and hands were cool. Feet were deathly cold and I couldn't feel my toes. They felt like this for about 60 minutes.

T-Day +2 (Shabbos) Time Trial at 1:00 PM in Omaha.
35 F with 12-16mph winds. Same gear as above. Feet were cool, toes were cold but bearable.

Tuesday, 11/27 commute to work at 7:00 AM.
21 F with 8mph North winds. Same gear. In the 20 minute ride, the torso was just warming up while the toes were working toward freezing. It's amazing how tingly a hot shower is on those little fellas afterwards.

Tuesday, 11/27 15 mile lunch ride.
28 F with 9mph winds. Same gear. This time, after 55 minutes of riding my feet and toes were both frozen. It should be noted that I followed Fredcube's advice to pick the one day of the week that was nice enough to ride. The weatherman promised 51 F. Maybe he was looking at a weather chart for Houston.

So, what I'm discovering is that in these temps, most of my body can take the cold except the feet and especially the toes. They just can't bear it.

Looks like some Neoprene booties will be on the stocking stuffer for Christmas this year.

Until then...Hey Munson! Teach me how to duct tape my road shoes. I'm looking for an R-Factor 49.

Giving Thanks

Merriam-Webster's etymology of "thank" is from Old English thanc thought, gratitude; akin to Old High German dank gratitude, Latin tongēre to know.

This past weekend's Thanksgiving road trip to the Murphinis was a refresher on knowing that I belong to the Murphy clan.

Let's start with a wonderful meal: tortellini soup & fresh greens salad mix, bacon-wrapped sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes and gravy, strawberry fruit jello with pretzel topping, a golden-brown brined turkey, decorated ginger cookies and two homemade pies: pumpkin and strawberry-rhubarb. Delicious. Who's Rachel Ray? Connie's kitchen was where it's at and was worth the trip in and of itself.

But there was more than just fine dining. It's the companionship, the kinship, that I relished the most.

To illustrate, the Murphinis have some traditions at Thanksgiving. One is to watch National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. There aren't many better ways to cope with holiday zaniness than to watch the antics & dysfunction of the lovable Griswalds.

Another Murphini tradition is to name something for which we are thankful during the Thanksgiving meal. Doing so is an exercise in communicating those things important to family.

I told about the lessons I learned the first time I ran away from home. I don't exactly remember why I did it, but it was probably because of my older brother Matt. I was eight; he was ten. There is a thin line between love and hate among brothers at that age. In truth, I loved him but despised what he inflicted upon me. His favorite torture was to pin me down and thump my chest and put wet-willys in my ears. But this was just a prelude to the dreaded, hacked-up, deep guttural goober being dangled precariously over my forehead. It would hang there for a few seconds before being voraciously sucked back into his mouth. I tried to play it cool by counting - one... two... three... fou - "Sluuuuurp!!!" Matt sucked that nastiness back in and the cycle resets. Each time that snot ball got closer and closer while I anxiously mumbled another ten-count. Inevitably, the goobery weight would snap the over-extended sinuous snot-strand. With a warm and viscous slap, it hit my forehead and drove this eight year old mad. It was probably something like that that compelled me to run away. With burning tears running down the cheeks, I ran with fury for a few blocks, believing in my heart that each step would lead me away from them forever. After exhaustion hit, I was forced to rethink this strategy. I was cold and hungry. Fifteen minutes after I ran out of their lives for good, I returned and asked Mom what was for dinner. I'm sure that I wasn't even missed because I didn't even tell anyone of my plan to run away. Still, it meant a lot that they were there when I came home.

"You got to learn to stick to your own blood or you ain’t going to have any blood to stick to you."    --Colonel Abner Snopes to young Sarty in William Faulkner's Barn Burning.

It wasn't the last time that I ran away from them. I made some painful choices later in life that could have resulted in them shutting the door on me for good. Still, they've been patient, correcting and compassionate when I returned to my senses and came home.

I suppose that I'm little like Cousin Eddie. My wife's name is Katherine, I have a large clumsy dog and my neighbors would tell you that I've worn goofy hats and robe outside plenty of times. And even though I don't have an RV to abduct your boss in, like cousin Eddie, I've had my shares of blunders.

This year, I have gratitude to know that my family has stuck with me through it all.

Shabbos Time Trial

My triathlete friend Scott has proposed a Time Trial out at Epply this Saturday afternoon with beer and food at his Old Market apartment following.

I'm IN and will be wearing my heart rate monitor to get a good lactate acid threshold base test.

All are welcome...this includes YOU!

SATURDAY November 24, 2007: Time-Trial & Beer

1:00 PM
Meet at Delice's in Old Market. Drop off extra gear at Scott's apartment nearby.

Group ride to Epply Service Road for the start of the 9.3 mile time-trial (individual starts in one minute increments).

After the last finisher, maybe another quick loop as a group and then back to the Old Market to Scott's apartment for beer and food

2:45 PM
Post Time-Trial Showers, Beer, and Food

There are five riders in for sure. The more the merrier. I was thinking that it would be sweet to have a prize purse. Everyone could pay $5; we would put $1 of that in the prize purse for the winner and $4 in the Pizza and Beer fund.

I Bet the Mavs Could Beat the Huskers, Part II

While mum's the word on Callahan and the state of Husker Nation, the Mavs sure are stirring up some hometown excitement.

I saw first hand at Al F. Caniglia Field what that means while running 1200m repeats with Gerald and Scott last night: new bleacher railings were being installed under the stadium lights for this Saturday's second round playoff game.

The lights were an added benefit for our Tuesday night track workout. One of the nice things about running is that you can do interval workouts well into late autumn without too much difficulty. Last night, it was 43 F with 81% humidity and a 12 mph N wind, feeling like 36 F. While I suppose that getting a decent bike workout in such weather can be done, it's so impractical trainers and rollers are used more frequently. Good options, but it doesn't compare with being outside. But you can go out for a run without much discomfort in these conditions while wearing a hat, long sleeve tech shirt, knit gloves and sweatpants.

If the winning continues, that crazy lady who complains that the Mavs should be on the World Herald's front page might just get her wish.