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OLD GAL BLOG : See www.galfromdownunder.com/blog
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| Switching to Blogger |
[May. 8th, 2007|01:37 pm] |
Folks, I've decided to start blogging on Blogger, largely because it lets me call my blog galfromdownunder, as opposed to the more confusing galfromdownundA (due to Livejournal's limit on the length of the blog title). You can get to my new blog by typing http://www.galfromdownunder.com/blog
The actual address is http://galfromdownunder.blogspot.com
There is still a link to this, my old blog, on my home page, wouldn't want all that precious ranting from the past to go up in smoke ... |
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| Galfromdownunder downunder: Regiving the regift that keeps regiving |
[Dec. 25th, 2006|07:32 pm] |
Ho ho, Santa off to work: not in a sleigh with Rudolph but jiggling a sign at a busy intersection, trading chimney smoke for exhaust fumes.
What did you get for Christmas? Something old (score 10 points) or something new (score –100 points and go directly to landfill)?
At a recent showing of James Howard Kuntsler's 'End of Suburbia' I saw a woman get up and announce her family was giving and receiving only pre-loved presents this year – nothing store bought, as a gesture towards counter consumerism and all the fossil fuel it burns. It struck me as very practical. My stuff-of-life – now scattered across three Australian cities plus Hawaii and Oregon, were purchased with thought and hard earned cash – passing them on would grant them a whole new use-by date. Books in particular make good re-gifts – words don't lose half their meaning the moment the book goes out of the store like buying new car, as long as the dirty bits aren't missing.
Creative regifting goes beyond merely dusting off a relic and wrapping it up. For example, a cross cultural friend is into personal development. I regifted him with a Western nations trilogy of self-help that I once used for a particularly vicious attack of mid-life: Unlimited Power by Tony Robbins (USA), Become Happy in Eight Minutes by Siimon Reynolds (Australia), and The Meaning of Life by John Cleese (Britain) - so that he could compare and contrast the three. I have now freed up some valuable real estate on my bookshelf for someone else's regifted wisdom.
You can also be creative in the delivery. I had bought some close-out lingere that was too big for me. I wrapped it up and gave it to my sister's main squeeze. Why? He's the one who'll get to see it most often – on her!
The 12" Apple powerbook laptop I am writing this blog on, which also spat out my Cuba book and DVD movies, was bought on eBay as a gift to myself to enable me to work on the road.
An eco-alternative to gifting new, would be to buy an experience. For example, a pole dancing gift certificate purchased online …
Is that BYO pole? . I landed in Sydney for the first time in three years, and my mother had all but signed me up for the latest money spinner in the fitness arena - at least downunder. My mother is 68. She listens to techno and once sent me a scrap of paper saying 'if it's too loud you're too old.'
Read Wiki's definition of pole dancing, clearly written by a rebar engineer without a pulse. He neglects to mention that it was invented one night by a bored cleaning lady in a fire station. Curiously, male students are not encouraged to apply - perhaps the sleaze industry fears a deluge of gorgeous gay males upstaging and outpoling the women. A few years ago there was a beauty pageant in Australia in which a man entered and won on technical grounds. The pageant rules, drafted by a political correctness zealot, nowhere stated that candidates must be a girrrrrl ... or at least wax their mustache for the catwalk. The organizers were outraged.
So I called up www.PoleStars.com.au to book a 'taster' lesson for my mother and me, as a surprise Christmas present for her. It's not cheap - $A39 for a 2 hour lesson. You need to wear trainers for the warm-up and then, ahem, 'shoes with a heel' for the actual pole work. I wonder if my Cindy Crawford wig, bought when I used to room with Julie the wild Brit hairdresser, would be a suitable accoutrement? (rummage rummage). What about my fishnets and Harley D boots? (rummage rummage). 'Is that BYO pole?' asked my mother. The pole is supplied, though if you get hooked you can get your own, which resembles one of those extendable shower curtain rods that screw out 'til they hit the wall on either side. A Bike Friday customer up the road told me she'd already done a lesson. 'We were all trashing it beforehand including me, and the ones most rabidly feminist against it are now totally into it.'
Loitering around a local park, I grabbed onto a pole at some children's play swings to familiarize myself with the equipment. Yeeeooow. My chest still aches from pulling a muscle trying to hoist myself up it a coupla feet.
Watch this space for a full report after the evening of January 10 …
Road Warrior update. The first thing a road warrior must do when landing in a new place is to get connected again – to the phone, the internet, and old friends and family who become slower and slower to pick up or hit 'reply' on an email, the longer you stay away. After being out of Australia for almost three years, many of my friends haven't replied. The available men are all married or gay. Relationships are a living organism that need feeding and watering just like anything that poops. No wonder many people give up and commune with inanimate stuff like ipods and home entertainment systems and SUV's with tinted windows.
I notice the dearth of open wi-fi hot spots in Australia. I got terribly spoiled in the USA where you can often open up your laptop while cruising around a neighborhood and help yourself to someone else's unencrypted wi-fi. Some cities are becoming completely wireless, as in Chicago, the idea being that the community will be able to float in a sea of free information exchange.
Eventually, after imposing myself on my cousins and former colleague's offices I bit the bullet and bought this $A399 USB modem which resembles Milano cookie in iPod clothing. It's basically a mute cellphone and dishes you up internet via the cellphone networks. It's not real fast but not as slow as my mother's diabolical dial up connection. Fortunately, it came with 2 month's free internet access, otherwise it's $99 a month for 1 Gb of downloads. After just over a week I note with alarm that I have chewed through 230 Mb already. No more YouTubing! Don't send me big pictures! Unfortunately, it works only where Vodafone cell network operates, in the UK or Australia (or so they say, but someone is bound to know how to hack it) so I'll probably sell it on Ebay when I leave.
Where in the World am I now. I've just come back from a 7am solo ride around Sydney's harbour coastline and beaches. I've discovered places of utter natural beauty I never knew existed – Neilson's park, Parsley Bay, where I walked my bike up the stone stairs, to snake around the shore and up along the ridgeline. Pictures will follow.
My little flat or 'condo' as the Americans call it, is in a harborside Sydney suburb called Double Bay - or Double Pay as it is known. My ex and I bought it as an investment many years ago and now I own the mortgage. Around the corner is the snootiest suburb of all - Point Piper. Here is the view, from the window and from the roof. It makes me look like a good catch except it's about the sum total of my net worth, apart from my Bike Friday.
More soon from your roving, ahem, National Treasure. My guerilla PR manual states that with that little nod in my general direction I should do a Paris Hilton and be caught dismounting my bicycle without underwear. Ouch, imagine the chafing … some pictures follow.
Gal downunder contact details
A 50 km spin to Akuna Bay with the Bike Friday Club of Sydney
8am at Watson's Bay: Aussie firefighters await the call of Christmas day goofs in the kitchen. 'We've had 2 calls already, expect around half a dozen.'
Later that day: Lads from Liverpool in Sydney's western suburbs find a sweet harborside spot nearby to catch a Christmas fish. 'I've been coming here since I was ten.' That's my sister Far on the left.
Gal on a hot tin roof: the view from the top of my apartment building. |
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| The Gal's Secrets + Network Marketing for Foul Weather Friends |
[Nov. 8th, 2006|05:22 pm] |
Tonight I went to a network marketing presentation of a product I've been using for over a year now.
I am going to share some secrets and findings.
First, a lot of people ask me what I use to look 25 at 45 (well, website photos, being low resolution, are very forgiving). I don't have the money or stomach for cosmetic surgery, so I am happy to share my not-so-secrets. At least while they're working, before I too look indistinguishable from a Chinese salty plum (that's pretty durn wrinkly if you've ever tried one).
What not to eat. I don't consume soda, anything deep fried, or anything that has partially hydrogenated vegetable oil in it - the latter is in most processed foods - take a look at the label. It's a killer. I also I avoid anything with refined sugar in it. Sugar has been shown to egg cancer cells along in a petrie dish. Eat sugar as part of the place it came from - an apple, a gloriously ripe fig, grapes, berries. Eat nuts (no more than 1/4 cup a day). EAT THINGS WHOLE. Brown rice and pasta not white, sprouted bread, beans and legumes. The moment you extract anything the body has to chemically deal with it and it's hard work.
What to drink. Next, get yourself a VitaMix blender. This is a very, very serious machine that will make anything chewable instantly drinkable. I haven't tried whizzing a three course steak dinner in it yet but I am sure it would produce a sustaining liquid lunch for the busy executive on the go. Of course you can use a good, regular blender but you'll have to whizz long and hard and the result won't be as smooth - and you'll wear out your poor blender. So, each morning I ingest the A.M.azing tonic Lance Armstrong's chiropractor and Olympian in his own right, Jeff Spencer, shared with me on the phone while upgrading his personal Bike Friday. This is my variant:
A.M.azing tonic:
2 scrubbed organic carrots
2 sticks organic celery
big hunk organic ginger, skinned (so much ginger I can't stand it - Jeff)
big organic apple
Chop small. Load into blender. Fill to within 1" of top with filtered water. Whizz the crap out of it. Taste varies with quality of raw ingredients.
If not sweet enough, add a tiny bit of liquid or powdered Stevia (a natural sweetener). A variation is to replace a carrot with a small beet, replace apple with pear. Fresh orange juice added is good too but not in blender - better in citrus press.
I have nothing to say this is the elixer of youth other than it just feels like it's doing you a hell of good.
My friend Tim bought a pressure cooker for $15 off Craigslist and pressure cooks everything from rice to soybeans. He makes the best soy milk by simply whizzing cooked beans with water in the Vitamix. Makes rich-tasting, killer berry smoothies. Get yourself a pressure cooker, cooks things fast and no flavor escapes.
Live authentically. Third, and following on from my previous post, I try to be whatever and whoever I am in the moment. This means not being phony or putting up with phony people. This is a challenge (hey, I wondered why no one's invited me out in the past 10 years) but you have to decide what kind of life you want to lead. I'd rather be alone than phony, which is why I tend to fly solo. The mental stress of being inauthentic ages you faster than the relentless marching calendar. Vipassana meditation is extremely worthwhile but that's the subject of a whole other blog entry - stay tuned.
Watch what you put on your skin. This is not just for women and metrosexuals. Putting stuff on your skin is like eating it. The fact that you can take medication, including birth control, through a patch on the skin means that when you go into the Body Shop and slather on the free testers, you're sticking a cocktail of chemicals directly in your bloodstream. Some common ingredients, like DMDM hydantoin, are formaldehyde-releasing. Not to mention preservatives. The more 'foody' and natural sounding the ingredients are, the more preservatives are needed. Otherwise it would rot like a banana in a glass jar. Or you'd have to keep it in the fridge. What's wrong with preservatives? Where some people are prone to asthma or migraine headaches, I tend to get skin rashes, triggered by stress and preservatives used in all cosmetics, shampoos, conditioners, moisturisers. For economy, companies use the mega-cheap parabens (look at the label). Go take a look on the labels of anything you stick on your skin. You'll see methyl paraben, propyl paraben, buytl paraben ...
USANA. So I searched for a preservative free moisturiser that would not need refrigeration and I found it: USANA's Sense, (with an arty stroke over the final 'e'). It felt different almost as soon as I started using it. My only criticism is the luxurious, heavy, frosty glass bottles they come in. Weighs a ton - not good for a travelin' gal!
How do you get hold of this stuff? It's sold by network marketing. I signed up as an associate, so you can get it from me, or become an associate yourself.
Network Marketing or: Lose friends who never really were friends in the first place. I personally have never had a problem with this kind off selling model, although many people do. Why? Because we hate to think our friends are benefitting from us even in a small way. And if they get rich, that's even worse. 'Every time my friend succeeds I die a little' (Gore Vidal). We'd much rather buy from a faceless exploitative conglomerate like Safeway. We'll go and mow a friend's lawn or help them move but they made a dollar out of this great product I bought? No way! As I said, I am not that kind of fair weather friend. If you got something I could be interested in I'll look. As a very good friend said, 'the definition of friendship is to use each other in the nicest most mutually beneficial way.'
I use to be a dealer for a couple of directly marketed products. Not Amway, the companies I worked for were not nearly as big or successful.
The first was a brilliant hydroponic indoor plant system called Luwasa, which has not gone to seed, I am pleased to pun. One look at the simple beauty and logic of this low maintenance, low cost system, and I was hooked. I had a whole dirtless nursery of foliage on my desk at work and people would stroll by, admiring, asking to buy. So I became a distributer, largely because I got 30% off, you'd be mad not to. I gave presentations, which gave me valuable experience at the 'show and tell' - something that Aussies don't grow up with. Not to mention garnering a useful thick skin against people who would rather go down to Wal*Mart and give their money to them in exchange for a small potted ficus benjamina.
The cheery bubble hovering over my desk burst when a couple of particularly joyless colleagues reported my selling the odd 5" fern to a client while waiting for my COBOL program to compile. I was called into the oval room and told I was not getting a raise that year, due to 'unprofessional' behavior at a client site - despite the clients proudly displaying their burgeoning Luwasa plants at every opportunity and extending my contract over and over. Ach, the penalty for spreading a little joy in the office. These days I'd get a raise, as my joyfully despicable behavior would fall squarely under the relationship marketing umbrella, otherwise known as Customer Evangelism.
My next foray in the direct marketing world was selling sniff-alike perfume, along with just about everyone else at the time. I didn't actually wear the stuff myself, I just liked sniffing it, so that was short lived. But what made those knock-off perfumes so popular? Perhaps it was, a friend told me, like nail salons - it's a little bit of luxury for under $20 that the common man can afford, in lieu of a holiday in the Bahamas or a Prada handbag.
In this decade, people seem more and more concerned with health and wellness, as things get crazier, more expensive, stressier.
Maybe that's why we're selling more and more Bike Fridays.
Supplements in trial: I'll be a guinea pig. So I'm now signed up as a USANA associate, and my next step is going to require some effort: road testing their lauded nutritional supplements. That's because I'm not a big pill-taker. They get stuck in my neck. (I've since learned the technique is to drop your chin to your chest and swallow).
The reasoning behind taking supplements, according to supporters, is the degree of oxidative degeneration that occurs in the human body due to our nutritionally depleted foods, as well as, stress, pollution and so on. The result is cancer, diabetes - all of the common killers. Of course being 'young' I haven't much paid attention to this until now...
Apparently, off-the-shelf supplements need only meet the FDA's food grade requirements, which is a lower, say, meat-packing facility standard. Analysis done on several commercial vitamin pills revealed that many contain far lower amounts of vitamin or mineral than that stated on the bottle, and some don't even dissolve - you could still read the label after it had gone through you. It is very cheap to produce vitamins at this level. I've been reading that USANA is ranked #1 for their pharmaceutical-grade supplements, which is a much higher, more costly standard, and would make them very expensive if sold in retail outlets. It has numerous athletes on its books is the official supplier to the US Women's Tennis team.
Now I am NOT a pill-taker, but whenever I get stressed or can't maintain a good diet on the road, I admit I take a stress pill - that is, multi-B plus mega C which seems to keep me rolling. I've decided that if I am going to ingest anything, it might as well be the best. And if it's good enough for the American/Canadian Women's Tennis team, it's gotta be good enough for me. (Just like I say that if Bike Friday is good enough for all these famous and serious cyclists, it's probably good enough for you).
Understanding that I am leery of sticking bad or downright unnecessary things in my body, my fellow USANA associates are offering me a sponsored trial, that is, a daily dose of USANA Essentials - a multivitamin and chelated mineral supplement - for three months.
I'll be reporting here on my progress. I very much appreciate their offer, as I don't have cash to burn on something that doesn't serve me.
I also will be testing it from the point of view of the ordinary person. Time and time again, big companies see value in only supporting 'top athletes', as if the supreme physical state of a luge champion translates in any way to the average Joe and Josephine with dullard day job in a carpeted cubicle struggling to support three kids and an overfed dog.
As I told Forbes.com's James Clash (Take a look, I'm 5th in line), I champion not so much the XP (Extreme Pursuitist), but the UP (Untrivial Pursuitist). And especially all SAMs (Single Adventurous Misfits) - welcome to my world. |
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| My 44th birthday - oh no, how did ten years slip under my tires? |
[Sep. 6th, 2006|01:25 pm] |
LATEST ... Some shots of my current loiterings (Oct 2006) over east can be found at http://www.galfromdownunder.com/eastcoast
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I am so excited ... my story about the thinking man's hobbit, Dan Price appears on the tripley-triffic Treehugger.com site. If there's one site you must subscribe to, it's Treehugger. Take a look and you'll see why.
AND WAIT ... there's more. My Cuba book has been snapped in the hand of the guy on the cover! Take a look on my PG rated blog.
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 Ten years and two days ago I woke up on my 34th birthday, and told myself I'd better get cracking with my stuff-filled but oddly ... vacuous life. I think the bio on the back of my book says something about having left a decent job, nice bloke, fastish car, enough shoes to make Imelda Marcos look barefoot and blouseless, not to mention a slew of decorative paintings that matched the throw pillows (thanks Paul K for that one) … after a brief arm wrestle between my internal demons and a well-toned VISA card, I went out and bought a travel bicycle. The rest, of course, is cyber history. I took that little bike out for a ten year spin on the paved and potholed parts of this planet, via UK, Ireland, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Cuba etc, and wound up paused here in the seat of world power – that's right, the USA.
That was ten years ago. Two days ago I woke up with a shock to realize that another ten had slipped under my tires. Holy helmet, how did that happen? I look in the mirror. Yes, I definitely look older, especially if you flick on the fluoro shaving light rather than the row of overhead hollywood starletesque bulbs with the dimmer switch. My knees make a strange crinkling sound when I walk down steps, like mulching leaves with a shovel. The overwhelming feeling is that yes, I'd better get cracking with my adventure-filled … oddly vacuous life.
More and more people write to me and say how they envy my life. I have to quickly remind them about what they have that I do not. They usually say, 'oh yeah, I forgot about that'. In fact I am sure I've blogged about this before (partner, house, family, retirement, designer garden gnome etc etc) so I'll stop.
I shouldn't be so shocked at the passage of time. There have been signs all along the way, but I've been staring at some far off GPS coordinate or into the screen of my laptop. In an effort to survive independent life in a nuclear family world, I have spent the past year homestaying in customer's houses, being regarded like a surrogate daughter in many cases. This is a blessing of the highest order, given that I come from a splintered home. Someone even wanted to adopt me. You could also call it my public relations job gone utterly beserk. When someone writes me into their will you'll know it's gone too far - enough to do a PhD in guerilla PR at the Harvard Business School!
It should not be such a shock, this passage of time. The signs are all around. People are getting their second divorce or entering their third marriage. Their kids are no longer stick figures but now have breasts and broad shoulders and an intravenous feed to an iPod as well as the college fund. Plus they're never around, leaving parents to redefine their lives as a couple after triangulating for 20 years. Sometimes harsh words are passed between the two individuals who are learning to float by redistributing their weight, now there are less people on board. Someone once gave me this useful tip I feel compelled to pass on: before you open your mouth, think - is what I am about to say going to bring us together, or push us apart? (Of course, this doesn't mean walking on eggshells; it just means twiddling the sliders on the the equalizer a bit before your blurt ...)
My die-hard single friends are popping off one by one like ducks in a shooting gallery, having at last found someone they can put up with for more than a few days. Many of them have met online, a preferable avenue to the local Safeway or model train enthusiast's potluck (gad, I confess I entered a model train store recently in Sharon, WI, and actually loitered! What is happening to me? See photos under Wisconsin Camp). I have made par-boiled attempts in the past to check out guys online - I am sure the Match.com site is about to nuke my smirking mug as I've never actually paid and thus never directly replied to anyone unless they found me at my site. As my life exists 90% in cyberspace it has to be a pretty damn good email exchange to get my attention. Prospects have, rightly so, better things to do with their time than argy bargy with me on email.
To balance my time at a keyboard I took it upon myself to go on the road and move around, hence my Galacrossamerica experiment. I can work from wherever, as long as there is an internet connection, I am embarrassed to admit. I recently bought a 'Crackberry' to access mail when in the boonies and can see why there are so many jokes about it. You're always in danger of looking at the damn thing. It's actually a source of disappointment, because if someone special doesn't email you, you're left feeling abandoned by this little glowing screen. Cripes, they'll be selling a psychotherapy/intervention add-on with it next (after rebate of course).
I'll leave my own rant with this thought that came from a good friend Jeff B:
Be careful of moving around too much. You get use to it.
The picture is of me dancing with my bike helmet on Mill Beach, near Westport, CT, home of Paul Newman apparently, on Sunday Sep 3, 2006, my 44th birthday.
Work stuff: I've just landed over east after some interesting times in the midwest. I'll be presenting my Route66 shtick to the Bethel AMC (CT) Oct, 3, Central Jersey Bike Club Oct 16 and Boston Oct 23 and otherwise loitering with intent in the NY/CT area. Check the Bike Friday events calendar if the urge takes you. Maybe I'll see you here, there, somewhere ... |
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| TV Weddings. I mean, TV + Weddings |
[Jul. 22nd, 2006|10:00 pm] |
I'm watching E! TV as I write this. I rarely watch TV, but this particular station provides a nice antidote to my sober, unglitzy, bicycle-centric life - even though it gives me a headache after five minutes. I can see why TV challenges your productivity. So far I've sat through Saturday Nite Live, the Chelsea Handler Show, The Soup, and now Dr 90210, and this paragraph is all I've managed to write.
E! TV is all about appearances. If some cataclysmic eclipse of the sun blinded every sentient being, E! TV would be in serious trouble.
Chelsea Handler, a comedienne, is new to me. Her shtick is extreme political incorrectness, but rather than being a toothy goofy Carol Brunette, she's a gorgeous blonde - picture Candice Bergen with an un-Cloroxed toilet bowl for a mouth. You can't be on E!TV unless you're a blonde with high cheekbones. You *can* be butt ugly - but you'll be the butt of a chiseled presenter's jokes. I always thought the best comedians were kind of ugly, fugly even ... good looks distract from a good punchline.
American humor is getting pretty edgy. I thought it was only the Aussies that got away with grossness like two fetuses in a womb describing what they wanted to be when they grew up - one pulls out a striped boater and says, 'on stage' - then a coathanger appears to drag him off. [insert loud disgusted groan here]. But Chelsea comes close. I think it is called escalation - like having to use a more and more flashing LED's on your bike tail light where a single one would be sufficient, because every one else is sporting n+1 LED's.
On Satrday Nite Live I witnessed a hilarious skit about a pretentious NY clothes store called Jeffrey. Example: two cooler-than-thou employees advised a customer to 'go to where you usually shop, the place where you can get your entire wardrobe in the same aisle as a basket ball hoop, near the blue flashing light...' and 'you'd be more comfortable at the Mobile Home Expo in that jacket.'
I went into this store last year when I visited NY with a fashion bodyguard (friend) to protect me as I fingered $400 t-shirts and fully expected to get torn to shreds. I'm game again - this time I'll wear a garbage bag with arm holes and a pair of paneled stonewash jeans especially for the occasion. Wait, ditch the garbage bag, that's the latest Refuse-Style.
OK ... I just looked up from the keyboard and a reality face lift is in progress ... it's like watching a mortician work on a cadaver. The show is cutting between chunks of cheekbone in a beaker of formaldehyde and a young plastic surgeon, an Adonis in a pin striped silk suit, talking about how he has two houses but one hasn't sold. We pan to his super model wife with an eating disorder and bratty kid, his wife's complaining through expertly dyed bangs that she's stressed out, we're supposed to feel sorry for them. Or gloat.
Another glamorous young teen wants a rhinoplasty (nose job). She wants to be a singer and dancer, and having broken her nose five times, has problems breathing. Or so she says. I know of more than one person who used the need to breathe better to justify getting a convex nose made concave. Why the guilt? Why not just say 'I hate my nose, I want it fixed?'
All through my teenage years I wanted to get a nose job. I have a perfectly crooked nose, with a nice hump in it. My grandmother use to say it was a Jewish nose inherited from her (she is 100% Chinese so I don't know how that works) and that it meant I would be good with money. If that sounds politically incorrect I am merely paraphrasing my Nanna. Now, I think it's an advantage to be 'imperfect' in some way. If you have people supporting you despite your imperfections, physical or otherwise, you know the support is for real. Besides, it's not often you grow up Chinese Australian and have some people ask if you're of American Indian descent.
Cripes! two hours sitting in front of E! TV and what am I rabbiting on about?
After two months in the land of cheese and corn fields (Wisconsin) I am back in the Northwest for 3 weeks.
Part of the reason for returning was to attend a wedding. I normally avoid weddings, as I described in my book. My reaction to weddings is that a) they make me feel terribly unmarried and b) you mean people still do that? Indeed they do. I've met some folks here in the US of A who've been married up to five times. A friend tried to gently inform me that at 44 I need to make some serious decisions in that area. And he claims not to be ageist. I guess dating sites make a fortune on that fear. I hope that whoever sees me sees me at whatever age and stage. The couple who were married are at a good age... mid-thirties and fifties respectively. Old enough to have lived some and develop some tools. And to see the true size of their partner. And to add another taxpayer to the planet - we need more of those, otherwise more of us will die alone and pensionless.
I attach pictures. Study them. This is a really happy couple. In many wedding pictures couples look a bit stressed. Not this couple. They're off to a good finish. I think I saw more joy here than in two hours of E! TV.
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| Happy red and green July 4! |
[Jul. 5th, 2006|04:58 pm] |
Pictures at http://www.galfromdownunder.com/chicago
Was your July 4 a tinsely, fluttery, red, white and blue affair?
Mine was corncob yellow and prairie green ... with a splash of sputtering, gear-grinding tomato ketchup red ...
 The parade down the main street of sleepy Sharon, WI, was one big, quaint slo-mo commercial for John Deere. For you city slickers who think a cow pat is something you do to calm a hoary Holstein, take a moment to be educated through the viewfinder of my digi camera. John Deere make green and yellow farm equipment, combine harvestors and the like. Some red ones too, driven by cute gals in strapless dresses - ah, times are a-changin'! What seemed to be missing was a flotilla of folding bicycles, saying "Powered by a non-sputtering, non-smoking 650cc human being".
The Haldemans have just left for Alaska, leading 65 cyclists up to Denali and back. I'm Home Alone, and there's 12 acres out the back to practise a McCauley Culkin-style scream.
Do you believe in cosmic resonance? Since meeting the van Zweel brothers from South Africa on Route66 - South Africa being possibly the last place on my list of places to even think about visiting due to its history of oppression - several African incidences popped into my viewfinder. My mother calls and says she's just seen a film about British imperialism in Swaziland - which, Google tells me, is near Johannesburg. My friend Carol in Hawaii tells me she lived in Swaziland and if I ever visit she'll be my email support family. Lon sits me down to watch a wonderful documentary called Emannuel's Gift, about a crippled man who bicycled across Ghana to raise awareness for the disabled. I get sent music by Ladysmith Black Mombazo. My sister has just flown to Tanzania to interview for an NGO contract over there.
Maybe I should go buy some packet lasagne and see if I get invited to eat olives in Tuscany... or open the fridge and squish some dijon mustard on a piece of wonder bread and see if a sexy Frenchman with a low arrogance coefficient knocks at my door ...
A friend tells me I should write something here at least once a week. He looked here to see what I was up to and was dismayed that the same old Chicago posting from two weeks ago was still kicking about. I say, why doesn't he just pick up the phone and call me then? Or write his own blog. I have no idea who is reading it and care even less, because I largely use it to talk to myself. There's no-one else who'll let me talk this long without telling me to shut up, or switching off and making a mental note not to invite me to their upcoming pagan ritual. I set up a blog for a friend, who immediately asked if there was spellchecker, and that he'd better write it first in Word, rework it until it resembles a slice of processed ham, then lay it out on his blog. I said, just go in and write like hell, otherwise you'll just add to the pile of letters strung tediously together out there, resembling a constipated paper shredder ... It's your blog and you can rant if you want to. Like this ...
I am reading a very good book called TAO, The Pathless Path, by Osho. I did not realize until I googled it that Osho is the guru formerly known as the Bagwhan Rajneesh. He of the 63 Rolls Royces his disciples bought him - apparently there was supposed to be 365, one for each day of the year but someone short ordered. Now, you'd think I'd close the book and add it to the compost heap after reading that. I kept reading. if you can ignore the guy's freaky time on planet earth, he has some good things to say. As Malcolm McClaren once said, in more eloquent words, it's the people on the fringes that move the great lump of a bell curve that is society a little bit this way or that.
The Tao is good for those who spend a lot of time alone, and sometimes fight it. Also for those who are permanently stuck in their intellect, in the past, and in sporadic guilt and martyrdom. That's most of us. How about this, on being a gentleman/lady vs a rebel:
The gentleman has never loved as he wanted to love, has never been angry, has never hated anybody - not that he has not hated, but has not shown it. All the gentleman can do is change his expressions; the inner being is never changed. Anger arises in him but he does not show it, he represses it. So he goes on accumulating a thousand and one things inside him, which create chaos, which are boiling inside. he can burst at any moment - a gentleman is a dangerous person to live with. Never live with a gentleman, or a lady. A woman is beautiful, a lady is ugly. A woman is natural, a lady is fabricated. Thes people are cultivated, painted, not true, not honest. When they feel anger they smile, when they hate you, they embrace you. You can never depend on them, you can never decide when they are really smiling and when they are pretending. IN fact, after long practice, even they cannot decide whether they were really laughing or just pretending to laugh, whether they really loved someone or were just pretending ...
A rebellious person is one who does not bother with society at all. He simply lives through his innermost core. If society fits with that, he goes with society, if it doesn't, he goes alone. he is not a traditional conventional, straight person. His criterion is his inner soul.
Now I am assuming that the rebel in question is not mentally unstable (and it has been shown that what is deemed mentally unstable is just plain desperation arising from the loneliness creates by oil and greed). But as to the treatise about being a gentleman/lady, I would have to say that I've lived in environments of rampant political correctness where behind smiling faces lies seething judgement and disapproval. And what people don't seem to realize is that their eyes and body language give them away. You think people don't detect your inauthentic ass?
I have to get out of those environments, because I become like that myself. That is part of the reason I stay on the road. And I have to say, I found it more predominant on the West Coast of the USA that the East Coast. Why is this so? I guess I should Google it as someone has probably done some kind of sociological study on it. A friend was telling me about a New Yorker cartoon that shows two people in NY walkng toward each other, one says 'fuck you' and is thinking 'Have a nice day'. The same panel is shown below but it's now in LA. The same person says 'Have a Nice Day' but is thinking 'fuck you'. What creates this phenomenon? Eating goats cheese and sundried tomato pizza with arugula versus ham pepperoni and mushroom?
Enough talking to myself. Feel free to ignore me or flame me - that's what the Comment button below is for. Cheaper than a $120 an hour therapist. Let's put'em out of business.
I am getting a ride to Madison, Wisconsin tomorrow to see what has been called one cool town.
I am putting the final touches on the Route66 DVD. I've scheduled a showing at the Chicago Mac store theater, Aug 23 and 24, where instead of being pressured to buy a beer and burger you'll feel compelled to buy a $1500 MacBook or $150 ipod I am sure.
Lake Geneve, Wisconsin - where Chicago's rich and beautiful ply their rusty cabin cruisers and lunch in their shabby little weekenders ... see more photos
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| Tales from the Windy City |
[Jun. 18th, 2006|08:54 am] |
Gal in Chicago - the full Montymedia.
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I just got back to Wisconsin after almost a week in Chicago. My passage 'home' (for home is where the Bike Friday suitcase is parked) was accelerated to space shuttle speed by a ride from a cycling friend Cary, who I met through a couple of degrees of separation from the Haldemans. Cary was a RAAM crew chief last year, and you can follow this year's race here and see my homestay host doing his RAAM officiating here.
Yes, I had the pleasure of an 80 mile fang (aussie for rapid transit) in an open top Merc 550 SL, red of course, the Bike Friday wedged in its grease-containing bag in the smooching seat behind me. I always thought that if I had to own own a car, it'd be a cabriolet - a relatively affordable one like a VW Golf.
Streuth! What am I doing talking about cars! Just 5 days in Chicago, crammed with unbelieveable food, GQ-esque accoutrements, amazing architecture, free Joffrey Ballet performances, stiletto heels and blond ETV hairstyles, parks and gardens, brownstone row houses, $600K Mercs and BooMWahs ... and landmarks like the Corncob towers, where the George Jetson and family lived ... and I am talking like a reader of GQ Magazine.
Your environment affects you, make no mistake. Just as well I got a ride back. Come Monday I am sure I'd have bought a Martha Stewart lampshade and a sculptural cake lifter despite not having anywhere to put them. I already succumbed to consumerism on my birthday last year and bought a giant picture that's now parked in the condo of a friend in Eugene.
It's tantamount to seduction, this consumer society I have been loitering in for 5 years. In the Museum of Contemporary Art store, I couldn't help but notice the 'cooler-than-thouness' and irony that has typified contemporary design for as long as I can remember. I recall an article in the Observer which talked about irony, and how everything seemed laced with it, from our humor to books to serving tongs, and what happened to good old saying what you mean and meaning what you say? In this case the current fad in the store was these small, anime/Manga-style dolls, with big heads and tragic expressions. Their hip grotesqueness draws you in. I am sure someone's done a PhD thesis on the sociopsychosignificance of it all. I ended up parting with cash = $12 plus 9%(!!!) tax for a little metallic mesh purse with a simple zip to hold credit cards, business cards and a few bills in my jersey pocket. Later I realize that sweat will drench the contents. You're not spose to sweat with a purse like this, see. It's meant to go in your Prada clutch.
Oh yeah, there was some art in the museum. I told you I am getting suckered in to consumerism. A Warhol exhibit, with the usual suspects you know and love from Volume P of World Book Encyclopedia (Painting), plus a terrific exhibit of the Chicago comic artist of all things melancholy, Chris Ware. If you're suffering from excess joy, read some of Chris's strips as an antiodote.
I also bought an Andy Warhol printed sleep mask ($13 plus tax) that gives me a pair of sultry Elvis eyes. I read that you get a better beauty sleep if the room is pitch black. Since I often sleep in the vicinity of my plugged-in Powerbook and accessories which glow like a cockpit at night I thought I'd give it a shot. It'd scare the shite out of anyone who happened to walk in to my room with a baseball bat.
I am slowly recovering still, from the bad case of cyclist's diaper rash I got on the last week of Route66, over 1 month ago. Imagine sunburn from waist to upper thighs. A 10-day course of an anti fungal drug and antibiotic failed to knock it out. So I went to another doctor who has prescribed me even more antibiotics and an ointment. Apparently anti fungal drugs are hard on your liver. The first doctor didn't tell me that! No wonder my pee was dark despite all the water I was drinking...
More on the consumer front, I discovered some super light and sexy knickers in a Chicago neighborhood lingere store that are perfect as a liner for bike shorts - some people prefer to wear underwear with shots, and I am one of them. No, my rash did not come from wearing underwear, as I have toured for 10 years on a bike without a problem until now. In fact, I get problems if I just wear bike shorts. I have been wearing them under a long skirt, for tooling around Chicago on the bike. They are so cool I bought 6 pairs at $9 each. I also splurged and bought a lace cami set. For who to bloody look at I don't know. Here they are girls ...
What else did I do in Chicago? Cary let me use the office space of his business, eClickPerformance. This man knows Google's innards like the back of his handlebars and is having to turn business away. He did do a quick analysis of the Bike Friday website and noted that we had, at the time of Googling, 17,900 links to us and vice versa, largely he said, due to the endless stream of content I post on the site. With Google, content is king. So my online garralousness is paying off. Maybe that 's partly why the company is selling 8-9 bikes a day, double that from last year? I can hallucinate about that at least.
Cary's office dangerously shares the same approximate GPS coordinate as Wholefoods, the successful Austin emporium of all things more-organic-than-thou. It's a dangerous place. I walked out spending $10 on a snack lunch each day I was sucked through its doors (which was every day). Something like, I pick up a roasted vege burrito ($3.99), a Naked juice ($2.50), and you know how you see a packet of something lying there that someone picked up then changed their mind about? In this case a packet of Hain's Carrot chips ($2.29) Before you know it that's in my basket too and I am lunching out like bandit.
About 31 people showed up for my Chicago Bike Club presentation. I showed the 16,000 Feet on a Friday Peru DVD and snippets from my forthcoming Route66 movie. they were very enthusiastic and I even got a couple of social invites out of it. A friendly bunch indeed. They would like to see more of the 66 movie. The cooler-than-thou Apple Mac store has a theater so maybe I'll return to show it there.
At first I found Chicago 'did my head in' like a lot of big cities, but after 5 days of riding my bike to and from the office space, from Lincoln Park to Huron St and back, it has started to grow on me. There is space to breathe there, despite all the traffic and buildings. It's a smaller New York with the massive Lake Michigan to give it some hydration, otherwise it'd be a landlocked piece of scorched earth like Salt Lake City, I am sure. There's loads of great food and things to do. There's a big bike advocacy movement aided by the fact that the Mayor himself rides a bike. On the Friday I listened in Daley square as he addressed the crowd of helmetheads pronouncing Chicago 'The Most Bike Friendly City In The World'. All we have to do is subtly change the mind of that woman who told me to 'get my ass' outta her way during the recent Critical Mass and it that will transpire ...
Now it's back to doing the Bike Friday Spring newsletter and finishing the Route66 DVD ...
See my Chicago page for photo galleries that accompany this diatribe... |
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| Women Over 40 |
[Jun. 9th, 2006|06:14 pm] |
Now before I get howled down with 'This is old news, ho hum, what listserves are you not on?' etc etc let me quote an old friend Max Landrak who once said, 'People do not have to be informed so much as reminded.' The piece of deja vu I reproduce below, which was not penned by Andy Rooney it turns out, was partly prompted by an old male friend of mine who wrote excitely saying he'd 'met a fantastic 42 year old *but* extremely attractive woman ...' Well maybe that attitude has prevented him from meeting any likely candidates up til now (as he approaches 50).
My mother always said, before one casts aesthetic aspersions at another, ask yourself - are you an oil painting?
In the past few months reporting from the road - Hawaii, New York, Texas, Route66 and Chicago - I have met a ton of 40+ single, adventurous and interesting female friends who will resonate with the words below, unfortunately outnumbering the unattached males who will do same. I have to be honest, I have not met the same number of men who have inspired me to pen a similar tribute. Oh yes, I have met many fine, upstanding citizens who like to argue with me endlessly about some technicality of something or other, but nothing to whip out the noisemaker for. If nothing else, it's a nice piece of succinct copywriting than made me curious about tampering with some red lippy ... heaven forbid ...
Thank you to whoever wrote it - a copywriter at the AARP I believe ...
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Subject: Woman over 40
Ladies,
As I grow in age, I value women who are over 40 most of all. Here are just a few reasons why:
A woman over 40 will never wake you in the middle of the night to ask, "What are you thinking?" She doesn't care what you think.
If a woman over 40 doesn't want to watch the game, she doesn't sit around whining about it. She does something she wants to do. And it's usually something more interesting.
A woman over 40 knows herself well enough to be assured in who she is, what she is, what she wants and from whom. Few women past the age of 40 give a damn what you might think about her or what she's doing.
Women over 40 are dignified. They seldom have a screaming match with you at the opera or in the middle of an expensive restaurant. Of course, if you deserve it, they won't hesitate to shoot you if they think they can get away with it...
Older women are generous with praise, often undeserved. They know what it's like to be unappreciated.
Women get psychic as they age. You never have to confess your sins to a woman over 40. They always know.
A woman over 40 looks good wearing bright red lipstick. This is not true of younger women or drag queens.
Once you get past a wrinkle or two, a woman over 40 is far sexier than her younger counterpart.
Older women are forthright and honest. They'll tell you right off you are a jerk if you are acting like one. You don't ever have to wonder where you stand with her....
Yes, we praise women over 40 for a multitude of reasons. Unfortunately, it's not always reciprocal. For every stunning, smart, well-coiffed, hot woman of 40+, there is a bald, paunchy relic in yellow pants making a fool of himself with some 22-year-old waitress.
For all those men who say, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free" ...
Here's an update for you. Nowadays 80% of women are against marriage. Why? Because women realize it's not
worth buying an entire pig, just to get a little sausage. |
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| Biking in Chicago: Bike The Drive, Crit Mass, et al |
[May. 30th, 2006|08:38 am] |
PHOTO GALLERY: Chicago as seen from the saddle
MOVIE CLIPS Download free Quicktime 7 player for Mac | Windows:
Bike the Drive (2.9 Mb) The sound of silence: 20,000 bicycles
Critical Mass (2.5 Mb) 2000 riders can't be wrong!
Chicago highlights (5.8 Mb) Touring the bike-friendly sights behind Kathy Schubert and Joey
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Kathy Schubert and Joey, wearing hers 'n' hers threads
Well, I am still suffering from an acute case of cyclist's nappy rash that seems to really be digging in. Like I'm having a regressive moment or something. One rainy ride to breakfast last week was all it took to bring it all back with a vengeance. I think I will stay off the bike and go to the clinic today. However, when I think of the amazing Ted Campbell who I wrote about a couple of months ago, I cease to whine. Please read that story even if you stop reading mine.
Last Friday (Memorial Day weekend) a train station official eyed my Bike Friday, then handed me a leaflet stating that no bikes were allowed that day on the Metra. No problem - I just folded it up, put it in the soft bag, and I was away. What's not to love about a folding bicycle?
My host, local bike activist and Bike Friday owner Kathy Schubert, led me around with her photogenic Schnauzer Joey in tow. Joey has about 12 cute little helmets and bike jerseys, matching those of her captain. Her large, dark marbles for eyes hold a serious gaze, especially in this eye-averting society. If you want attention, buy a poster dog like Joey. She graces a zillion .jpgs for sure.
Chicago looks a lot like New York to me. Cute little neighborhoods and a lakefront that reminds me of tooling along the Hudson. I've noticed that most western world cities look alike, adhering to a standard formula. It's as if the smells, sounds and streetscapes come pre-packaged - just add concrete.
Chicago's Mayor Daly is apparently a cyclist and it shows. There's a nice bike trail leading along the shore of massive Lake Michigan. There's even a swank city-built Bike 'Garage' right in the center with locker rooms, showers, bike shop, repair facility, undercover racks ... very civilized.You pay $100 a year for the privilege, which I am told is no problem even for the average Chicago bum; it's even worth it just for the use of the showers. There's even a special repair shop for police bikes. In case you're up for a handcuffy moment, in Philly I shot a little clip of a bike cop demonstrating the kinds of moves you can do with a
bike as a weapon.
Critical Mass. About 2000 riders gathered around an iron sculpture at 6pm for this Last-Friday-of-the-month slow, traffic-calming ride around its main streets. It wasn't so calm in some sections, with a woman nearly running me over and yelling something about getting my ass out of her way as I paused to take in a serene moment. 'When they arrest you, go limp,' was the advice given to me by Lon, but we peeled off before anyone in black and white appeared.
I met Bob Matter, head honcho of the Chicago Folding Bike Club, who's list you can join here: http://grouops.yahoo.com/group/chi-folding He shot me straddling his Dahon with its unique butt-cheek-spreading seat (I kid you not) as blackmail.
Chicago is flat, and it was interesting to note how even a slight hill causes bikers to slow right down.
We peeled off and went to a fancy restaurant called Ina's. Sitting in that starched linen ambience I once again embarrassed myself as a skint cyclist by focussing on the largest portion for the smallest amount of money on the menu. We did OK - $9 for a gnocci that was delicious but soon became like eating concrete. Just what the cyclist ordered!
The next day Kathy led a group for Tour de Mosaics, a 5 hour amble around the city pointing to tiled wonders. I had to join the group an hour and a half later after discovering my two patched tubes were leaking. It was just one of those days. I had to patch them twice. Then I put the rear tire on backwards. Then I put the rear wheel on wrong, catching the chain. Then the pump wouldn't work because the valve of the tube was shorter and was taken up by most of the rim. Then ...
Schwinn BMX stunsters with similarly stunted bike and rider
Bike The Drive is a bit like the NY 5-boro ride, 15 miles down the main drag and 15 miles back, with a kind of expo in the middle. I rode slowly in the leftmost lane and was yelled at to get to the right. Despite 5 years in the USA I still think I am downunder for some reason. Someone else yelled to my antagonist "Nicely, say it nicely." Chicago people in the main seem mellow for a big city. I think it must be the midwest influence. The lake. Something. I noticed this in Austin Texas. The more towards the middle of the country you are, the further away from the edge, the less 'edgy' people seem to be. I wonder if someone's done a PhD thesis on it.
A trio of Schwinn BMX stunsters,did aerial 360's that made it look easy. One or them, Matt Sager, was a a comparitively ancient 29 but the maturity of his finesse showed. I tried to get him to do a trick on my Bike Friday, since it looks like a distant cousin of the BMX. After tooling about he said the geometry was was too stable for doing tricks easily, and 'hard to find a balance point.' Matt has a degree in carpentry and cn build a house frm scratch. We talked about how building a shelter was a basic skill in tribal days, now, we've forgotten so much how to use our hands, it costs a lifetime of savings to pay for someone else to do one. Being able to build a house, grow food, live sustainably, is in some ways more elevated than being a lawyer or stockbroker or CEO of some conglomerate. Because when the shit hits the fan, you're OK.
A stretch Hummer limo was parked outside the library, a gold-cufflinked hand asking a cigar out the window. Kathy was insensed and gave the driver a toung lashing. He instructed her in no uncertain terms to 'not f@#$ with me.' I thought she was going to get her Joey to sic 'im.
I go back there for my June 13 talk. Go take a look at my sample DVD clip for Route66 and let me know if you like it so far.
http://www.bikefriday.com.route66
It's a product of me, my laptop, sitting in bed, staring at the sky. Oh, I also posted a clip of riding with Lon and Rebecca Haldeman on the previous blog entry. Scroll down and take a look!
The silence of 20,000 bicycles |
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| At Home with the Haldemans in Wisconsin |
[May. 25th, 2006|01:49 am] |
Well, Route66 by Friday is done and dusted by over a week now.
http://www.bikefriday.com/route66 - Read about it.
PHOTO GALLERY: At home with the Haldemans
MOVIE CLIP: (Download free Quicktime 7 player for Mac | Windows): Riding with the Haldemans (1.8 Mb)
I've spent most of the ensuing time propped up in bed on the second floor of Lon and Susan Haldeman's expansive country homestead in Sharon, Wisconsin, glued to my laptop. The task? Condensing 300 minutes of the movie clips I took on the trip a mere 45 minutes.
It's fascinating reliving those 29 days on my 12" screen, choosing what was interesting and what was plain silly or gross and should therefore be included. There's a sample 3-minute work in progress clip at http://www.bikefriday.com/route66
for those who are patient enough to cajole their computer to see it.
The Haldemans are a hardcore biking family.
L to R: Lon, Susan, Debbie Henning, Rebecca Haldeman. MORE PICS!
There's Lon, celebrated ultramarathon cycling champ, head of PACTOUR fast bicycle expeditions (lollygaggers please remain behind the white line) and more: he has a huge collection of green and yellow John Deere trucks, and his massive, 4-level house is beautifully finished with decorative yet restrained woodwork done by his own hand. Just a pretty pair of quads he ain't!
There's Susan, Lon's wife and RAAM champ in her own right, co-schemer on the PACTOUR business, who loves to garden - as their expansive, park-like grounds suggest.
There's Rebecca, their 19 year old leggy daughter who helped build her own single speed from a 25 year old frame Lon rode 454 miles in 22 hours on. She seems to have embraced the notion that resistance is useless - a name and legs like Haldeman means you just gotta get in the saddle.
Then there's Bisti the PACTOUR dog, who was rescued as a pup from the side of the road on a PACTOUR trip and is now a permanent fixture under the trailer, under the van rear seat, or whenever a packet of Beef Jerky is in evidence. She's named after a chunk of New Mexico wilderness where she happened to be loitering with intent. I know this because I googled it here
There's also a presumptuous cat that insists on crawling up me like I'm a tree while I am working.
They let me have the run of the kitchen, like so many wonderful Bike Friday families I have stayed with. My hosts always wonder if I am bored or whatever, but how can I be? My own family is all divorced and dispersed downunder, thousands of miles away. I enjoy simply being a part of my host's lives, washing the dishes, emptying the tumble dryer, cooking food to share if they aren't oppposed to tofu, being unadventurous because I can. Now, come to think of it, some people would probably think that plonking myself on a busy American family is dang adventurous and would rather be caught scaling Tibet with a paperclip. I wonder how many of those OUTSIDE Mag luminaries have stayed with readers of the magazine for weeks on end....
The three two-legged Haldemans go out for regular breakfast rides, fanning out from their house in eight different possible directions and ending in a diner in a neighboring town. In the evenings they often pop out after dinner for a bit of a loop, to wit: 'use it or lose it'.
I try to tag along as far as possible. Lon and Susan alternate between their clunkers, tandems, other bikes including Lon's Bike Friday. I have proof that Lon is actually capable of riding as slow as me - on his clunker. Rebecca often leads the group at an impressive pace, somewhere between 15 and 22 mph. She looks like she came out the the womb grafted to a bike.
We rode to a place called Lake Geneva where I am told, all the yuppies go. It did indeed look like a cross between Switzerland and Florida with a boat-choked marina and resorty, chalet-esque buildings. It is the direction you go if you want to train on some hills, because most of this area is flat.
It's not hard to learn your way around after observing placement and orientation of the bulbous water tanks in each town. They look like giant, upturned spring onions except for the fact that someone thinks they should be painted powder blue to mismatch the sky. On Route66 someone went all out with a long ladder and a fat Sharpie and made a cheery water tank statement. Perhaps the Christo couple will do something with them, although that might be too obvious for that famous pair of environmental artists. I learned from their talk in Texas that everyone thinks they just wrap things and they haven't done that for years.
Yesterday I suggested we do a little time trial each day and see how we improve. Dang it if Lon took me up on it.
"Ride for three miles. Lynette first, a minute later Rebecca, then a minute later me," said Lon, The idea being that I would get to see both of them fly past me. I didn't, thanks to a mechanical that set them back a bit. I rode so hard I was coughing afterwards for half an hour. But I felt great.
The town of Sharon itself is so tiny, you almost expect to see Barbie strolling down the street. It has grocer where everyone shops to keep them in business, one bank, one PO, one pub, one cafe, and most importantly, one ice cream store. I wondered how a store selling ice cream can somehow survive in such a small place. I found out - it is a regular destination of the Haldemans. The train is the biggest thing in the town.
I am trying to cook some meals using the limited ingredients available at the local store. It's run by Indians but it's all packaged white bread stuff. I asked about split peas and black mustard seed to make channa dahl and the owner brought some in for me from her own pantry, for $2. I made enough dahl to make myself sick. My cooking is probably a bit mushy and left of center for the family. In fact, I shall reveal here that the Lon the Machine seems to survive on whatever comes out of white bread America can. Canned ravioli, peanut butter, spaghetti ... I suggested he write a recipe book called the Instant UberAthlete, the antithesis to all these wholemealier-than-thou cookbooks, as in: " Buy can of x. Open can. Heat and eat. Ride 150 miles." . I mean, how can you mince with tofu when you see the kind of physical condition he is in. He has so much muscle that he is burning away a Safeway full of calories just yawning. I've never seen him yawn either.
This weekend is a Chicago bike event called BikeDrive. The Chicago Folding Bike Society invited me to go and in fact, arrive Friday to attend Critical Mass.
I asked Lon what he knew about Chicago Critical Mass, expecting a condensed history and philsophical treatise on the subject, as he did at every turn on Route66.
"When get arrested, you're supposed to go limp" (slumps his upper body) "to make it hard to move you," he said. And that was all.
Lon will be running a special, more relaxed 'Arizona Historic Hotel Tour' in February 2007. A different quirky hotel each night, 53 miles a day for riding. "I think the Bike Friday folks will really like it," he says. He of course, knows how BF folks prefer to smell the enchiladas rather than the smokng rubber - after all, he also has a Bike Friday ...
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I just got word that my mother in Australia just had an emergency operation regarding a ruptured bowel. It made me instantly realize that I must spend more time with her. She's 68 and loves good techno and is on her own. Read about her (bottom of page)..
Feel free to send her a get well email if you feel moved to do so - she would never ask for one. irenechiang at pacific dot net do au.
Here is what my sister sent me:
Hey Adventurette
Update: I got it a bit wrong - when they opened her up there was a mass of knotted intestine and another part, near the small/large intestine junction, had ruptured. Mum tells me they had to clean up the area because of risk of infection. Four surgeons working together. Apparently they have not removed, but have tried to 'rearrange' her intestines so they fit better (it's a bit like a rubik's cube, once you mess it up it never gets back together again) and also repaired the rupture. I will see her again tomorrow and give her your love. Leanne and John Bassett are in town and they will visit her tomorrow too. Her direct line is +61 2 8382 4411 at the hospital. She would love to hear from you I am sure. She will be in until Sunday, definitely.
The open hours are 10 - 1pm and 3 - 8pm. I don't know where you are so you can use the time and date converter meeting planner which will give you appropriate zones.
http://www.timeanddate.com/
Sorry when I said it was "nothing serious" in that I hadn't had a chance to talk with the doctors about the details and also I didn't want you to worry - we are lucky that we have free health care (to a certain point) here. I didn't mean to minimise it or sound insensitive, but I didn't want you thinking she was going to die or anything. I almost cried (well, I did later in a self indulgent way) because she looked so out of it and surgery is so invasive. Anyway, I pulled myself together and took her one of our favourite soft toys to talk to. I bought her a bear for her birthday - one she'd chosen already and really wanted, he is about 50cm high and is bright yellow with black spots. She likes spotty bear (although I think my puppy is better...).
Lonely travelers, go phone your mother. And your father. |
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| Route66 on a Friday: done and dusted! |
[May. 16th, 2006|07:58 pm] |
The scoop in movies and pictures:
http://www.galfromdownunder.com/route66 or http://www.bikefriday.com/route66
NOTE: I am holed up at PACTOUR headquarters in the boonies of Sharon, WI, for the next two weeks or so. Cellphone is sketchy, so if you need to contact me via electric telephone try (262) 736-2453 (BIKE)
If you want to eyeball my other blog bleatings about this trip, here they are:
Highlights from the first 15 days
My 'Big Texan' 72-oz Steak Challenge
Wayne: an Inspirational Rider
Done and dusted
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Route66 on a Friday is now done and dusted.
I have a 4-digit number on my odometer to prove it. I did about half the mileage of the other riders - due to my trying to balance the tasks of tour videographer, Bike Friday employee, and rider - and not burning out. In the first week I tried doing most of the miles and DID burn out. I filmed myself at day 8 looking and sounding like I'd "just come off of RAAM", said Lon Haldeman. That's somewhere off the end of the 'trashed' scale.
I've already passed a day of sloth here in Chicago, thanks to the hospitality of the van Zweel brothers who chaperoned me to a blues bar (Blue Chicago on Clark) last night. More about that soon. I am also nursing a kind of nappy rash that developed in the last couple of days of the tour, when rain and sweat and big mileage played havoc with a few rider's nether regions. I feel like a baby again, all I need is a good cry and a rattle.
I mistakenly thought that the last day of the tour would be an easy 16 mile 'lap of honor' down to Lake Michigan. Turned out to be close to 55+ miles (at PACTOUR you get your miles' worth), with a scrumptious stop at Lou Mitchell's, a downtown Chicago diner, for breakfast. There, we got to taste orange juice out of a rare and unusual fruit called an orange, rather than a bottle (and paid for the privilege - $3.75 for a 6-gulp tumbler). Giant fluffy scrambled eggs were served in a skillet with fried potato slices - most, including me, could not finish their meals. The main Route66 may be a classic road, but unless you like burgers, quality food is generally a little thin on the ground, with La Posada in Winslow (AZ) and the El Rancho Hotel (Grants, New Mexico) notable exceptions.
Perhaps the most disappointing meal of the trip, given the setting and price, was the White Fence Farm in Romeoville, IL, where we all ate together on day 28. The coleslaw, bean dip, cottage cheese tasted straight out of a Safeway cooler and were presented similarly. Their 'famous' fried chicken ('I'd rather go to KFC' , said Reed), ribeye steak ('full of gristle' , said one rider), fish ('yes, it's a piece of fish', said me) was listed at $19-$23. The dessert was vanilla softserve in a plastic cup - no topping or anything. And yet, a speaker from Route66 association on day 29 referred to it as 'one of the best restaurants on Route66', a dumbfounding statement. I am afraid that in that moment, his credibility went to the dogs for me.
I can only surmise that the setting - a cavernous building of barn-like proportions which seats 1000, is the draw. As in, 'come and experience what it's like to eat in an upscale feedlot, you city slickers'. Forgive me if I sound so hard, but having worked in restaurants and been the cook and manager of a small Costa Rican hotel, I am very critical of businesses that serve up mediocrity at high prices as if to say 'you dumb tourists can't tell the difference anyway.' It makes for a juiceless life.
I think my biggest adjustment now will be about reacquainting myself with a frypan and spatula and learning how to feed myself again, rather than ordering off a laminated Denny's menu. I should mention that tofu did not make an appearance anywhere on Route66. A 72 oz steak must have chased it away ...
So back to the finale ... after long goodbyes between the 26 riders on Day 29 in Niles, Anton and Leon van Zweel whisked me off in Anton's truck in search for 'The House of Blues'.
"It's a nice little seedy place with two stages and great music," said Anton.
House of Blues "inc" - another genericization of cool
We got a cab to Chicago town and on stepping out, looked skywards to see ... House of Blues 'Inc' - a giant restaurant-niteclub-hotel complex - the kind you see in those tourist magazines offering a free drink with every open-top bus tour of the city. Anton was aghast, and before we got to witness this blond, 6'5" Afrikaan-American in an advanced state of disappointment, he strode off in search of the real thing. We eventually landed on something more like it - a small bar called Blue Chicago on Clark Street, featuring a band I can't remember the name of, and a black singer. The doorman, a burly black guy, looked everywhere but at us as he said 'Eight dollars'. He peeled off the change from a wad of bills ever so slowly. I don't know what it is about the music business that's so aggressive. Anton says it's to do with having to be a hardass to make money.
I am also learning a little more about Afrikaan culture ('a passionate country, raped by corporations') hanging out with these guys.
Me: (mocking) So you're a 'white supremist' after all?
Leon: I am an employer. I'll show you some white supremists here!
On making friends in South Africa:
Leon: If you meet someone, and they don't kill you within 12 hours , they're your friend for life.
OK, that was South Africa 101.
After the brothers dropped me at the train station, I journeyed to stay with Lon Haldeman and Susan Notorangelo at their idyllic house in Sharon, Wisconsin. I'll be here for a couple of weeks putting together the Route66 DVD movie (order through PACTOUR). Then I believe I have a talk organized in Chicago. Somewhere.
The Blue Chicago club on Clark
+++
In the train station today, I spotted a huddle of men with crossed arms standing around a black man with a TREK bicycle. I heard angry word.
'Is it because I'm a nigger?' I heard the man say.
He had a pannier strapped to his bike. I couldn't work out if they wouldn't let him take his bike on the train, but heard the classic 'if you are caught making trouble with a Metra employee ...;
This was my introduction to Chicago. I've attached some arty-fied shots of the van Zweel brothers, which is all the creativity I could muster after 29 days on the road ...
Anton
Leon |
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| Route66: D-Day approacheth |
[May. 10th, 2006|11:35 pm] |
Follow my wheel, view pics and movies: http://www.galfromdownunder.com/route66
If you want to eyeball my other blog bleatings about this trip, here they are:
Highlights from the first 15 days
My 'Big Texan' 72-oz Steak Challenge
Rider dynamics
Done and dusted
+++
Wayne at the start of the tour
One of the interesting riders on this trip is Wayne. Way is OK with me sharing the following observations with you, "if it helps others."
Wayne read about PACTOUR's Route 66 in a Chicago newspaper, then spent 1 year losing 50+ lbs (Slim-Fast morning & noon + small balanced meal at nights, no dessert) and doing spin classes three times a week in an attempt to prepare for it. He says his wife can't believe he did it - lost the weight. There's more. Wayne has no feeling below the knees, due to a condition called peripheral neuropathy, caused by what he says was his 'drinking problem' long ago. As a result, he has no balance and walks with a cane. The drink, along with the 4 packets of cigarettes, went out the window 20 years ago.
Each day he sets out with his cane strapped on the top tube of his Schwinn bike. The first few days left him with saddle sores after just a portion of the 80-100 mile a day distances. He spent a lot of time in the sag wagon, something most riders are loathe to do, partly due to this thing called peer pressure to get in the saddle and ride. Especially when the able-bodied majority are speeding off ahead with no apparent problems. I noticed Wayne becoming more and more isolated by the group, through no conscious fault of anyone. As one rider observed, when someone isn't quite up to par it's like a catalyst, forcing people to examine how they feel ... the unspoken attitudes to this somewhat hampered rider ranged from supportive to completely unsupportive.
Wayne 29 days later - look at the transformation! Especially thanks to encouragement by some riders.
Yet, the other day he rode an entire 82 miles, and he was noticeably beaming. He's trying a little each day. I am proud that although PACTOUR rides are not really set up for riders without sufficient riding ability, it has been able to accommodate Wayne. Every little bit he does makes him a stronger and more confident rider, and so more part of the group.
By day he's a driver's license tester. The most interesting test?
"A candidate wrapped the car around a tree. I had to crawl out the driver's side. They asked if they could do the test again, right away."
Motels. I saw the cheapest motel yet, the Humble Inn, $19.95 for up to 4 people. Interestingly, these motels are often run by Indians. Each time you front up to the glass window at the reception there's usually a whiff of curry in the air. Yet, weary of burgers, shakes and enchiladas, I am amazed none of them offer Indian food, nor are there any Indian restaurants. 'Not much call for it here,' some say. Well, you can be proactive or reactive, and the former is where entrepreneurs make their millions.
It's late, I have to start riding 75 miles into Illinois with the group tomorrow, on day 26, leaving just 4 more days before our Route66 odyssey is over... |
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| Gal on Route66: 72 oz steak challenge et al |
[May. 6th, 2006|10:04 pm] |
Dental surgeon Scott McAlperin checks my fangs and pronounced them fit for the 72 oz steak challenge, using my helmet mirror
The dusk of Day 21 is over. Two-thirds of the trip have disappeared, along with a plantation of Dole bananas, chocolate malt milkshakes (when you can get them - see below), 12-oz rib eye steaks, slices of apple pie (when you can get ice cream - see below), Fig Newtons and water bottles of gas-inducing HAMMER Sustained Energy powder.
The days are going faster - riders now sport bulkier calf muscles gained by sticking to the wheel of someone slightly faster, and they're getting more relaxed, obsessing less about slinging their wheeliebags against the van door at sparrow's fart (Aussie for early). Even I've started to do more miles: 40-60 is plenty tiring for lollygagger me while filming, captioning, posting daily photo galleries and servicing my cyber-post as Bike Friday Customer Evangelist. My body also seems to have adapted to the new pace - the dry lipped, baggy eyed, stringy haired pedaling wreck I presented at Day 8 has given way to a svelte new me, able to occasionally stick to a rear wheel on hill ...
Some highlights:
The Steak Challenge. My 72 oz beef binge at the Big Texan in Amarillo is now a burp on the horizon. Lon said it was Anurang who secretly fronted the $75 entry fee (perhaps he wanted to get me back for daring to propose that Austin and San Antonio, TX, will become the San Franciscos of the south. I have nothing to base assertion on except 6 weeks of loitering there prior to starting Route66. See http://www.galfromdownunder.com/texas)
The steak challenge is documented in pictures and an 11-minute movie clip at http://www.galfromdownunder.com/route66
Here's the drill: You pay your money, sign an 8-point waiver and rule sheet, sit at a raised table facing the entire restaurant, in front of a big red LED clock that counts backwards from 60 minutes, while you attempt to make a Texan-sized dent in the meal before time runs out. If you do it, your $75 is refunded and you get the kudos.
The rule sheet stipulates that any leftovers must be boxed up and taken outside the restaurant, where it might be picked over by your pals. It is, of course, one big 72-oz marketing ploy, designed 'to make people pay $75 for a meal, while their friends cheerlead from behind their $10 dinners," said Enrique.
As a precaution, dental surgeon Scott Alperin checked my fangs using my Chuck Harris/Austin Cycling Club helmet mirror as a dental mirror, and even ran the end of a fork around my lower lip as dentists do - see the video.
The steak was sliced and fanned out on the grill in a way that would strike fear into the most carnivorous contender. It certainly gave this semi-vegertarian the jitters - I was thinking about my cholesterol level and whether I'd need a colonic afterwards.
'Piece of cake, I mean, steak,' said Anurang, peering over the grill like LeeRoy.
A young contender, Dave in the Duke tee, was on stage finishing his own challenge. His technique was to cut it all up in advance but it looked like it was getting cold and chewy.
'Yair, it's kinda tough and chewy,' he said.
'Yes, it's top sirloin, not the most tender cut,' said the gal server in her yee-hah costume and ten gallon hat.
How many people attempt this feat per week?
'About 5 or 6 in a night in summer, 2 or 3 in winter .... per night. A 110-lb girl did it last year!'
The challenge is this: you have to eat not just the steak, but the full 'meal' consisting of baked potato, salad, questionable shrimp cocktail and bread roll. I re-ran a mental video of Monty Python's Mr Creosote ...
Throughout the hour I was visited by various PACTOURers offering bite-size chunks of advice.
Lon: You've got an hour, don't blow up in the first 20 minutes, and don't drink too much water.
Lon was still wiping the tears from his eyes after relating how Aussie PACTOUR rider Geri Tatri, on the last trip, got within a 2-inch cube of conquering the challenge before throwing up in spectacular style in the restroom, filling the boots of an Elvis impersonator that were sitting between the toilet stalls. Like Mr Creosote, it was the shrimp that did it.
Bruce: Did you think of just using your hands, rather than cutting it?
Franz: Eaaaazzzzy!
Phil the Brit: You can do it! (He'd clearly witnessed meat, three veg and Spotted Dick-scoffing tournaments back in Mother England.)
Me: We women need our iron once a month.
Lin: That's enough for several months.
Me: It'll last me til menopause.
Dr Scott: How are your incisors?
There were also the voices of reason.
Leon: Don't be stupid, you're never going to eat it all, take your time, eat a balanced meal, you have to ride tomorrow.
Jim: Discretion is the better part of valor. You've already got the best footage ... if you eat it the whole thing ... (shrugs)
Me: Then there'll be even better footage!
Jim: (rolls his eyes) You're not gonna put THAT on the video!
Wayne: I think you're slowing down.
Jim Bradbury: (pushing the bucket closer to my chair): I think you'll need this.
And so on. Then there were the total strangers who came up to take a snapshot, no doubt to be captioned "short Asian woman makes fool of herself in Texas."
A table of young marines nearby kept calling out 'are you gonna do it?' - You know you've crested a hill when you're 43 and no longer give a rats about looking good in front of a bunch of uniformed young men.
If it was prime rib or fillet, I might have been able to polish it off. It got cold and chewy, so at 1 minute to the hour I decided to take matters into my own hands. I shoveled all the remainder into the small vomit bin beside the table and announced that I'd done it, completely fooling the wait staff, who did not think to inspect the bin. But being honest to a fault I came clean, they kept the $75, and all I got was a lousy t-shirt .... but it made for a wonderful 11 minute video that I hope makes PACTOUR look like a thigh-slappingly fun mob to tour the USA with ...
New riders. Joining us on this segment are a half a dozen new riders, including Forrest who owns a Bike Friday, and PACTOUR luminaries Jim and Nancy Myers. They've already set the pace at the very front of the pack.
Worst salad of Route 66. Jim Bradbury is compiling a list of the best eats of Route 66. It is only fitting that someone compile the polar opposite so everything can be classified in between the two extremes. The Worst Salad of the trip was had by a number of us in Clinton, OK, at a place called TJ's restaurant. The first smoke signal was a giant sign that said Pancake House, which turned out to be a decoy. Not having had lunch, I had a nice carbo-loaded long stack perched on my mental palate as I dashed across the street.
No pancakes within forking distance.
'Erm, no one got around to taking that sign down when the business changed hands,' said the waitress.
The "salad" that turned up can best be described thus: a bowl of limp, shredded iceberg lettuce (nutritional value = -1) topped with precisely 4 tiny shards of tomato. Nada mas. In case I was imagining things, my dinner pal Leon got exactly the same thing - exactly four shards of tomato. As did Lin. Wait, she got 5 shards.
'In South Africa we'd feed this to farm animals,' said Leon.
I have been hanging out with Leon for dinner because a) he likes to hunt down a decent ice-cream dessert after the meal and b) he argues endlessly with everything I say using his overseas and fatherly perspective, quite forgetting that I am a mere 6 years his junior and have been through a few hoops of my own, on my own. I've had a few fathers with teenage daughters offer well meaning advice, seemingly projecting my apparent lack of commitment to any kind of sensible and secure future on their offspring. Heaven forbid if Alice should end up homeless and 401k-less like me! However, I always appreciate their insights, concern, and a break from cycling-centric convo.
Oklahoma City, Gayboy central. One of these dessert hunting safaris involved strolling across the street from the fairly middling Italian called Meiklas (?) to a neon-lit place called Topanga. After sitting in the swank restaurant-bar for a while I noticed that I was the only woman. Strains of Kylie Minogue filtered from the next room.
'Is this ... a gay restaurant?' I asked the young waiter with bulging biceps.
'Yes, it's a gay resort. There's two in this town, and a strip. Oklahoma City is becoming a premier gay destination.'
Hmmm. It gives a whole new meaning to the 'Bones of Route 66'. He said some couples come in, sit down, ask if it's a gay restaurant then promptly get up and leave. It's a conservative part of the world, but those folks lose out:
The dessert - and service - were predictably excellent. I had a fine cherry cobbler with ice cream, not too sweet and none of this mediocre packet flakey pastry. Leon had a fried brownie with ice cream all washed down with a glass of Black Stone Merlot. Trust the gay contingent to push up standards - as Chrissie Hynde of the Pretenders said, it's the gays we have to thank for the nice house restorations and upscale cafes. They have money and taste, unlike poor strapped out families who aren't in a position to ponder the purple of a picket fence. It you want good food on 66, you might try slipping the Gay America directory in your glovebox.
In many places pie is not available a la mode. And amazingly, a 'do you have mik shakes' is met with a firm 'no'.
'We ain't got no ice-cream, not much call for it here, though I like it m'self' is the frequent reply.
What happened to going a couple of blocks and getting it from Safeway? Why is a blender so hard to do?
Back to food: it seems that in many places, one is safest ordering steak and potatoes of some sort, or Mexican. These dishes are generally executed well, particularly rib eye. Catfish is also reasonably executed.
Since many of these $21.95 a single hotels are run by Indians and Pakistanis, I am amazed there are zero Indian restaurants. I could go a dhal and korma with basmati rice as an antidote to all these tortillas and chicken fried steaks. What, that's not 'American'? It would seem that if migrants are living and working these places that defines it. A tapestry is made up of the various colors of thread woven into it.
The Mediocre Musicians of Erick, OK This couple put on a fun show in their theater space decorated with Route 66 memoriabilia and some fine old guitars. More probing reveals that there are mixed feelings in the town about their life's work, that the locals do not relish the couple calling Oklahomans 'redneck'. It seemed to me that they, like everyone I know, are simply trying to eke out some kind of living ...
Own a piece of Route 66. Lon does. Some enterprising lawyer/realtor is selling off a half mile stretch of Route66 for $66.66 a square foot. The idea being to preserve it. Some quick calculations makes a city sized lot of around 8000 sq ft a cool $500K. Someone ain't stupid! I wonder if there are covenants on it - if one could build a Lego gas station on it ... or stick a giant flagpole on it.
Reed Finfrock: you could use it as your burial plot, if they buried yourself feet first ...
I found a spot of broken pavement and wondered if the price was reduced ... but maybe not because it's location location location ....
I seem to have said very little about the cycling itself. Partly because I am doing around 0-60 miles when the paying customers are doing 80-100+. Do check the other rider's blogs for more coverage of the rubber to the road, and their great pictures. Biking for me, is a tool, a means to an end - and the more bizarre and quirky that end, the better.
This would have to win the award for Most Uninspiring Salad. '"We feed this to hogs," said Leon. My bowl had exactly the same number of shards of tomato. TJ's, Clinton.
Follow my wheel on Route 66 in words, pictures and movie clips:
http://www.galfromdownunder.com/route66 |
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| Gal on Route66: First 15 days |
[Apr. 30th, 2006|10:32 pm] |
Follow my little wheel on Route 66 in words, pictures and movie clips:
http://www.galfromdownunder.com/route66
If you want to eyeball my other blog bleatings about this trip, here they are:
Highlights from the first 15 days
My 'Big Texan' 72-oz Steak Challenge
Rider dynamics
Done and dusted
+++
"THE PROBLEM with America ... is the weather channel. It scares the @#$% out of people."
Leon, from South Africa, is telling me how he sees it from over his leather-wrapped handlebars.
"All you hear is ... tornados coming! Police cars damaged by hail! Hail THIS big (makes supersize burger shape with hands). Fronts coming in! Winds from the front! Meanwhile, the sky is clear. The wind is a nice breeze in your face. Perfect day to ride. Don't watch the Weather Channel ... JUST RIDE! " (You can see him do that in an Afrikaana accent at the above link).
We're now in Tucumcari, New Mexico. Yesterday we were in Santa Rosa. Day before, Las Vegas. But not THAT Las Vegas as I soon found out.
Me: "Hey, how close are we staying to Las Vegas town? I want to see the Pyramid Casino and ..."
Crew member: "Errrrr, Lynette, we're going to Las Vegas, NEW MEXICO, NOT Nevada!"
We're exactly halfway through the Route 66 tour. The days are a blur - up at 5am, breakfast at 6, ride for 80 miles or more, over the alternately smooth to boneshaking Route66, pause to eat stuff, take a few pictures, crash around 9pm to do it again the next day. And I am not even doing the half miles of the group - I ride some, leapfrog them in the van to film them struggling up hills, eating ostrich egg omelette, blazing across the tops of mesas, and end up being dropped anyway in the last 20 miles. All the while filming for the DVD and taking pictures of things that I find quirky but others probably blow past.
The pace so far has been 'easy' on a PACTOUR scale. Remember, this is the touring company for the Exceptional Cyclist. Their famous transcontinental crossings are the training ground for RAAM champs, at 140 + miles per day in some cases.
This tour one requires riders to be strong enough to ride 80-100 miles in 6-7 hours. Most are doing it, but there's always the van if things look darkest just before they go completely black.
"It's about confidence," says Lon, 6x RAAM legend, but still inclined to stop and smell the burritos as well as the smoking rubber.
I'm too knackered each day to postulate ad nauseum like I usually do, so here are some highlights for me so far:
* Day 12, the La Bajada crossing, stands out in my mind. This is the 'bones of the olde road', the mesa between Albuquerque and Santa Fe, with the old Route 66 switchbacking to the top of it. Lon built up a degree of drama about it based on his experience of it 5 years ago.
"You won't want to do it," said Lon, not realizing that I'd spend a searing hot Easter in Nicaragua once, pushing my loaded Bike Friday through sand. What he meant, was that he didn't want me off the back and stuck out there alone at dusk. The solution? Get driven to the base of it and meet riders there, to film them going over it. Loooxury!
It turned out to be fairly easy - a twisty hike-bike ascent, a long hard packed gravel crossing and a nice descent over the other side. I stayed on the tail of Gerd, 72, who's been off the front every day. This retired physical chemist only took up cycling when he was 65 and he's already done centuries, double centuries...
* Meeting Angel Degdillo in Seligman, AZ. Angel is credited with kickstarting the re-birth of Route 66. "I can tell you, when they put in the Interstate, this place died. Just died." He means, it was a struggle to put food on the table. Now, they're laughing all the way to the ATM.
* Eating in style at La Posada, Winslow, a grand restored Harvey House hotel, where guests could languish and be fed and watered in style while their trains were being restoked with coal. I thought I'd died and gone to Paris.
* Slumming it at the movie-star hotel El Rancho at Grants, New Mexico. I stayed in the Susan Hayward room. Ornate turned wood, a hotel with real character - just like in movies of old!
*Being treated to a fancy meal in the swank restaurant beside our Hotel in Santa Fe: Rosemarie and Jim Meyers were the perpetrators of the treat. While Jim was enquiring about the vintage of the Pinot I am sure I disgraced myself by focussing on the size of all the elegant epicurean offerings listed on the menu. Viz:
Me: "The cream of butternut pumpkin soup - er... how many liters is the cup? How about the bowl? The arugula salad with candied walnuts, roasted beets and a balsamic dressing - how big is that (making shape like a supersize burger with my hands)? The ravioli - how many do you get in the bowl?"
Jim asked for a side of carbs, also making a shape the size of a supersize burger with his hands. A petite boat of mash potato appeared with a flourish.
Later:
Me: "Um, Rosemarie - are you going to eat that salad?"
Still later:
Waiter: "Can I take that away?" (x3 times) Then: "You haven't touched it for a while."
Talk about overservicing! In Australia, you get tipped if you watch from a distance, zoom in and give service, then disappear, thus not disrupting intimate conversations of national or marital importance etc. Jim concluded that rather than tell us in polite English they had overbooked, they were trying to get us out of our chairs.
A few days ago, a trucker stopped to offer us a bag of energy bars. The automatic reaction was the we should throw them away, as they might be laced with a cyclist-exterminator. I pointed out that many a trucker has saved my life in my travels. Apart from the odd nutcase, they're generally respectful of anyone breaking a sweat like they do, and cycling is one of those pursuits. I have to remind people that 99% of humanity is like you and I - pretty nice, and just trying to have a nice life. If you focus on the 1%, you will not even go out your front door...
Lon has me signed up for the 72-oz steak eating challenge in Texas tomorrow. Stay tuned to see how this mostly-vegetarian handles that with grace ... |
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| Gal Across America 2006 and beyond - seeking homestays for a Transcontinental Telecommute |
[Oct. 31st, 2005|03:23 pm] |
I'm going to continue updating this page at my new blog location,
http://www.galfromdownunder.com/galacrossamerica
Go hither ...
+++
 During my 10-day silent and gruelling Vipassana course my brain was doing so much unfettered plotting and scheming that I hatched a game plan for 2006 (2007, 2008 ...). See below.
+++
See map of responses thus far .. and how far I am getting. I do not have a timeline on this - it's up to my hosts.
Are you an empty nester?
Do you have a spare room or sofa where the Galfromdownunder, Bike Friday scribe and Customer Evangelist could lodge, experience your town, get to know you, do her travel slideshows and book readings - and *PAY* you something for the privilege?
I have been trying to come up with ways to experience more of the USA and meet more of the wonderful Bike Friday community without bankrupting myself or Bike Friday, and I suddenly hit on this idea: telecommute my way around America!
Most of my work is now done online - in fact, I am probably writing this from my bedroom or holed up in a cyber cafe.
Many BF customers and friends have invited me to stay with them over the past 4 years - I've enjoyed every moment of these stays. I've even been able to reciprocate on some occasions. And after 4 years in Eugene, a nice place for families, couples and students, but a death knell for single adventurous misfits, it's high time I researched a more suitable place to live - if there exists such a place ...
I can offer:
- $300 a month room rent or pro-rata of $10 a day. It's not a lot, but it's what I can afford. If you want to let me keep that cash it will certainly help, as I can offset my travel expenses with it.
- to be a low/no maintenance guest, covering all my own food and travel expenses, or contribute to the dinner table according to my budget.
- be as gregarious or as unobtrusive as "a Bike Friday owner riding a regular bike" ... as you choose.
I would need:
- access to a fast internet connection to keep up with my work, writing stories and responding to 50-60 emails a day. This could be at a nearby wireless internet cafe.
- at least a 2-week to a month's stay to make it economically viable, given the expense of traveling to and from, and my desire to really get to know your town
- a spot to roll out a sleeping bag
- If you have are lucky enough to have a fab femme in your life, I will need to get the all clear from her via email or phone my cell 541-513-7711.
I would ideally like:
- Not be located in suburban sprawl and stripmallandia, which I can easily experience here in Eugene, and which is easier for families with a car, than for a car-free single person.
- to be somewhere warmish in winter and coolish in summer (don't we all want that...). It just means I probably wouldn't go for Alaska in January or Texas in high summer.
- to be near a place where you can buy a least a little bit of healthy/organic food, like tofu or tempeh. (Did you know that a soy protein diet has shown promising effects on baldness in the 30% of the population who have a certain bacteria in their stomachs ... just an aside, google it).
- my immediate environment to be smoke-free
- a pic of you and your environs - you can see me, and mine, in the photo above.
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So as you can see, I won't be loitering about looking idle or waiting for you to entertain me - I'll be earning my daily bread just like you.
I would arrive with my laptop, my backpack and my transport - my Bike Friday.
I realize this might appeal to only a handful of households, and I look forward to meeting that handful.
Would you like to host me? I'm ready to buy a ticket!
Lynette Chiang, Bike Friday Customer Evangelist, World Traveler and author of 'The Handsomest Man in Cuba'.
SOME QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS
Q: $300 seems a bit light on - rents for rooms in my town are double that or more ...
A: I wish I could offer more, but I will be funding this plan entirely on my modest, unexpensed, Eugene, OR salary - Bike Friday has a perfectly good desk and chair for me at the fixed coordinate of 3364 W11th, Eugene, so this not their big idea. However, I should point out that for every night I stay, you can afford to buy a pair of BF socks; after 10 days, a GD folding rack, and after 1 month, a complete overhaul of your Bike Friday!
Q: We don't need your money. Just get your little wheels down here and stay with us. A: Thank you very much - I'll still pay my expenses so as not to leave a hole behind me.
Q: '2 weeks to a month' sounds like a long time - you've heard the one about houseguests being like fish i.e. start to smell after 3 days?
A: I hope to attract hosts who will welcome me as a member of the family ... like an international exchange student, perhaps. I mean, I look like one, don't I? Two weeks feels like a minimum tenure to justify the airfare or AMTRAK expenses of getting there and away. For a two-week stay I'd probably like to find a second host family in the same town to round it out to a month. 4x 1-week stints would be a bit disruptive to my work.
Q: I don't have a guest suite but I'd like to host you.
A: All I need is a dry place to roll out a sleeping bag. My aim is to be low/no maintenance, and clean up after myself. Gold faucets and handclap-activated coffee maker not required.
Q: Do you have any allergies, food or otherwise?
A: I have to admit I eat very little meat, but am flexible - I get this burning craving for a really good burger now and then and electric shock treatment to curb it has proved only sporadically successful. I can help out with the family meal. Pets ... if you have a hyperactive, licky dog that completely loses interest in me after 5 or 10 minutes, that's great. Kids are fine - I made the 'empty nest' statement only because I imagine those folks are more willing and able to accommodate me. If you have a VITAMIX --- you go right to the top of the list! Carrot, celery, apple, ginger, stevia - whizzed up with water every morning... keeps dissatisfaction away.
Q: I am not sure my wife/spouse/girlfriend would appreciate you poking around our kitchen. In fact, I am not sure my wife/spouse/girlfriend would appreciate you being there at all.
A: Thank you for reading this far.
Q: Great! I/my partner and I are seasoned travelers/cyclists/pretty darn interesting if we say so ourselves and we'd enjoy hosting you and swapping tales. Ms says it's all fine by her. We could have a potluck at our place and invite local cyclists over, show them your travel slides, ride with our local bike club etc. We have hi-speed internet or there's a place really close by. We live in a part of town that you'll love. Where do we sign up?
A: Super! Tell me where you live, how to get there, approximately when you want me, and for how long. I am ready to add your dot to my map.
+++
I will probably be contacting directly a dozen or so people I have really enjoyed staying with to put them on the spot - and be totally OK if it doesn't suit - so don't feel obligated if you're one of the chosen few. Say yes only if you want me to come and spread some Aussie cheer in your immediate environs for a while.
FOOTNOTE: How did I come up with this idea? On day 3 of a ten-day, completly silent, non-religious, non-commercial Vipassana meditation course, my second in 10 years. I am heading to Kauai to serve students on the December course. There's probably a Vipassana center near you.
Contact me on lynchiang at yahoo dot com
Click on map to see it bigger. Note: For business reasons I am not able to include Washington or California at this time. Thank you to those who offered - there will be another time. Because I am on the move I might not be able to respond to email immediately, but I will.
Update April 4-14: Now in Texas staying with folks in Austin and San Antonio.
Update Mar Update Mar 25-Apr 4: Arizona Desert Camp 2006 Report Lon Haldeman's training camp.
Update Dec-Feb 20: Galfromdownunder in Hawaii Chronicles Where I am a guest of Bike Friday owners on Maui, The Big Island and Oahu - read about them all.
Update Nov 5, 2005: Offers in Luis Obispo CA, Boulder CO, San Francisco, CA, Denver CO ... time to draw a map!
Update Nov 3, 2005: I am learning more about America without even setting foot outside the door! I now have 3 offers in Austin, TX alone! This confirms what I have heard about Texans being very friendly. They're from the fledgling Bike Friday Club of Austin and haven't even started riding together yet. And with 2 offers in Vancouver BC, I will at last see what people say is one of the world's nicest cities to live in... now if an Aussie could just stand living at that latitude in winter...
Update Nov 1, 2005: The response to my GAAM (apologies to Lon et al) has been wonderful. I have had 17 homestay offers in 2 days in the following places: Juneau AK, San Diego and Palo Alto CA, Atlanta GA, Honolulu HI, Ithaca NY, Lancaster PA, Austin and San Antonio TX, and Seattle WA. That's a good chunk of America I haven't seen yet! I might even make it a multi-year plan and just keep going round and round! The Juneau folks even enticed me with a link to a wonderful Juneau photo album which makes you want to go there in an instant. I am curious to see if I can get a dot in Boulder, CO, to find out if it's all it's cracked up to be ... more soon! Stop Press: I have an offer in Frisco, CO!
Emailable link to this article: http://www.bikefriday.com/galacrossamerica |
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| FYI: A Friend's hip resurfacing op in India |
[Oct. 29th, 2005|12:19 am] |
Hot on the tush of my Victoria's Secret tirade comes this report of a cycling friend's hip resurfacing operation offshore in India. I include it as a service to those this might be remotely relevant to. Write to Roberta (keep it brief, or wait til she returns to the USA mid-Nov): rohickman at aol dot com
I shall report on my just-completed ten-day Vipassana meditation boot camp in the fullness of time ...
Before the op:
... Actually, the procedure I am going to have done is called hip resurfacing, not hip replacement. I believe this procedure is superior in a large number of ways. But it is not done in the US. You might tell your friend to look at http://www.activejoints.com/hip-resurfacing.html (for starters) or email me before he goes and has his total hip replacement. My doctors told me nothing about this but only "sold" me the crap that would leave me living unacceptably like an old person and needing probably two other high risk surgeries in my lifetime.
... It's Jaslok Hospital in Mumbai (Bombay) but more importantly, the surgeon is Dr. Ameet Pispati. Total cost of the surgery including 1 full week in the hospital is $7,000. (I've been quoted anywhere between $25 and $35K for surgery in the US, with far less experienced surgeons with much poorer success/infection rates, far less postoperative care, and a much longer waiting list.) I anticipate my total costs will be around $14K with air fare, 2 weeks in a hotel, etc.)
Check out http://www.onceuponourtime.com/india.
Heading to the op:
Made it to Mumbai (Bombay) in 36 hours. The trip was supposed to take 28 1/2 but delays with Air India (the oldest plane I've ever ridden on) considerably delayed my arrival. I only managed about 1 hour of sleep but there was plenty of food along the way.
Sure was glad I had wheelchair assistance throughout. I bypassed ALL the lines and had private guides the whole way. Would have been a LOT more arduous if I had had to figure it all out on my own - even if I had had 2 good legs under me!
Wasn't all that comfortable in Shanghai - something about disclosing personal health information - like STD and HIV (not that I'm +) - and the guards with the helmets (plus the sign about putting knives in your carry-on?!?!? - that made me remember human rights, etc. just aren't quite the same everywhere. But man! Was Seoul and Korean Airlines wonderful!
The journey from Mumbai (Bombay) airport was quite horrifying - poverty, smog, trash, crowds and more poverty. Yikes! Makes me wonder what the US will be like in 25 years! It'll take me a while to digest what I saw. So many buildings in disrepair - almost as if they'd been bombed out, roofs blown off, like a holocaust - and the traffic was just indescribable! Yes, Joel - there was a least one very healthy looking cow on the street.
But once I arrived at the hospital, they whisked me off extremely efficiently for test after test all seemingly very competently and all with glowing accounts of Dr. Pispati (my surgeon). It seems like all the workers drop everything for their American client - and this makes me feel uncomfortable - especially since there are so many sick people crowding the hospital too. I met all my nurses, my doctor, my anesthesiologist and another woman from Nevada who had both hips operated on by my doctor last week and she's already ready to go home! She had done research for one full year and concluded that Dr. Pispati was the way to go and she couldn't be happier. Hopefully, that'll be me in 6 days!
I have a spacious, private room with a great view of the sea. But again, this makes me feel too pampered, too privileged considering the circumstances. Lots of oil tankers on the smog-soaked horizon. I've been told that the incessant honking cars on the jammed street below will persist around the clock.
I had some second thoughts when I first climbed on the plane in Honolulu. I thought, this is going to be very tough! And certainly upon viewing the poverty, I began to wonder if I'd made a terrible mistake. But now I am feeling very confident. Everyone has made me feel so very comfortable. Surgery is scheduled for 8am tomorrow morning (that'd be Monday for you folks on the other side of the date line). I'll be on an epidural for 3-4 days so you may not get another email from me until the end of the week. But rest assured that I am being attended to like the Queen of Sheba.
After the op:
Hello all! Thank you to all of you who have taken the time out to email me. You have lisfted my spirits! :-)
It has been a very long week, difficult but extremely constructive week - to say the least! To add to this, my mother is beginning to fail very badly. She now has nearly complete paralysis of her right leg and arm, diabetes, and a private nurse. I think she has not left her room for at least a week. We talk daily and her spirits are very good considering the circumstances but it is very hard hearing her fail - especially since there is nothing I can do for her from here!
My surgery on Tuesday went perfectly - except for the EXTREME pain I was in for about 1 hour in the recovery room. For some reason, it took the anesthesiologist a while to dose me properly. I hummed every single Christmas song I could think of for distraction and eventually the pain subsided to tolerable. I hope that I am never in that degree of pain ever again in my life! But fortunately, I am amazingly pain free now with only mild pain killers.
Additionally, I awoke from surgery with a foreign body in my left eye which scratched my cornea pretty badly and left my vision distressingly blurry. But an eye doctor saw me right away and it is now almost completely normal.
For the first three days, I had all sorts of tubes running out of me but I had the sweetest private nurse who so tenderly cared for me. The epidural caused me nausea and dizziness and a fever for days which also had me very distressed.
I have also developed some kind of mild upper respiratory track irritation probably from the incredibly stinky oil-based paints they have been using in the room right next to mine. But the doctors and nurses have quickly responded with steam treatments and expectorants. Fortunately, I think the painting has stopped and I am on the mend. I can't believe they use such a noxious paint in a hospital! Now that IS 3rd world!
Despite it all, I am still completely convinced that I did the right thing coming here. I was absolutely thrilled to see the picture-perfect x-ray of my implant and a beautiful surgical incision that is barely more than 4" long. There is no surgeon who could have done better!
I have been walking the halls (with a walker) for days and days now and there is absolutely no pain in the joint - only minor muscle pain which feels more like extreme fatigue than anything else. I can already feel that my new hip is allowing me to stand more upright - something that I probably haven't done for years and years and I already have more lateral range of motion than I did before surgery. I progressed to walking with a cane today!
I have two physical therapy sessions daily and it is amazing how weak my muscles are. Simple leg lifts feel like my leg is full of lead. But I am sure that with each day I will get stronger and stronger. I have gained a very high degree of respect for anyone who has recovered from this type of challenge.
My doctor, or a member of his staff, visits me every day and he is very pleased with my progress. My care has been . adequate. The nurses are called "Sisters" and the non-skilled care are called "Moushies", or servants. They are unionized and the division of labor is very clear. Some nurses seem with it while others seem like a complete waist of time. Few speak English well enough to be meaningful. But there is a handful of caregivers who consistently cheer me up and who are very kind to me.
The food is, well . not so good. As most of you know, I am not picky about food but here I have been struggling with almost every meal except breakfast which is hot cream of wheat. At least there are always fresh tomatoes, carrots, cucumbers, apples and papaya I can count on. There are two teas (very English) and two servings of fresh, yummy juice. I feel I am loosing weight but this is good as I had gained 5 pounds from 2 months of inactivity.
I watch the day pass from sunrise to sunset from my 16th floor room overlooking the Arabian Sea. This is the season of Dewali which is a very happy, celebratory time of year somewhat equivalent in significance to Christmas. Each night there are fire works that I can see from my window.
I mostly watch TV all day long interspersed with naps, walks, a shower, and therapy. There are a handful of English TV stations including two movie stations. I have heard that Libby quit and Cheny was indicted. Excellent news! When will the rest of the regime fall?
The medical director of the hospital visited me and subsequently gave me a copy of Gandi's autobiography when he found out I had an interest. He also gave me a framed picture of Gandi which is near my bed. It is very clear that Gandi is still so loved here.
What surprises me is how much everyone has enjoyed my pictures of Koa and Bingo that I have by my bed. They all want to know more. Very few people here have pets are they are considered a luxury.
Emotionally, this has been a real rollercoaster. I just haven't felt well in the mornings and I have generally been very lonely. But by afternoon, I am feeling better and more cheery. My doctor says there are 3 American men (with their wives) who will be here next week so I think this will help.
I am so tired of sitting on my butt!!
Hope to hear from you soon - but please keep your messages short - and don't expect lengthy individual replies from me as resources here are extremely limited.
Love, Roberta |
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| That's why f*ing Wal*mart exists |
[Sep. 29th, 2005|01:40 pm] |
So I want to buy a new zipper for my ancient yet irreplaceable Assos cycling jacket. The one that cost me $120 ten years ago and is still the best technical garment I have ever owned. This one:
Where's this picture taken?
It's doing what zippers eventually do when approaching senility - ripping open without being asked, leaving you looking like a dork in a straitjacket as you struggle to close it.
So where do you buy a zipper, one of the most pedestrian items next to handsoap, a ball point pen and a ziplock bag? From a store selling those pedestrian things, I'd have thought.
I go to the cavernous Fred Meyer, where you can buy a heat'n'eat pot pie, blow up mattress and an engagement ring on your way out. In aisle 157 I find buttons, elastic, sewing stuff that lets you whip up a ball gown and ... leave it hanging wide open - no zippers! I go next door to the equally cavernous CostCo, resembling a morgue for unwanted made in China castoffs (does anyone shop there or is it a tax shelter for some money-laundering conglomerate?) - no zippers. They didn't even have a sewing section. Which makes me reflect: in this culture of just-add-cash-then-trash, fixing one's own clothes is a pointless activity. Broken zipper? Throw it out and buy a whole new wardrobe!
Of course, what was I thinking? It's all about supply and demand. People still have to wipe their own asses, hence the abundance of toilet paper in a multitude of thicknesses, colors, friction coefficients ... I talked about TP here.
But I'm not going to succumb to the law of increasing landfill. It's getting late, I should be doing something funner on a Saturday night, but I am on a mission ...
There's a sewing store some godforsaken distance away called JoAnn Fabrics. I say godforsaken because it's up River Road, a blight of car culture suburbia - endless cul de sacs, stripmalls, uninspired urban streetscapes where you can't hear the local wildlife fart for the phuttering of water-wasting sprinkers and growling leaf blowers and the roar of rubber on driveway after a 2 block drive to the store. I just try not to go there. I pedal out to the equally tragic west side of Eugene where a dilapidated shed calling itself Factory Fabrics offers 6" zippers in polyester-dress shades of lime, pale yellow and puke peach - I know this from my last visit, and besides, it's closed.
Then my mind thinks the unthinkable - Wal*Mart. I resist, but resistence is useless. Now, how to get there? The bike path runs blissfully by it, and no bike lanes lead to it. Wal*Mart is for the car-caged, who can load up that $11 blow up mattress and teak veneer sideboard and 10 cases of Coors in one SUV pickup run. To get there is a long, cold and dark ride out along 18th, past the ominous Hynix (formerly Hyunda) factory. I get to the intersection and have to risk being sideswiped by impatient Hummer and Chevy pilots who think me scrubbing along in the gutter is taking up too much of the road.
I lock up against a rainpipe at the entrance. There is a bike rack tucked waaaaay round back in the shadows where some youths are loitering with intent. No thanks. My bicycle is my car, I have to secure it as best I can. Some RV's have settled in for the day, week, year, thanks to Wal*Mart's policy of offering a free stay in their parking lot. This is one thing I will applaud this Big Box Brother for - a traveler should never have to pay for a place to lay their head. Wonder if they'll let me pitch my tent?
Wal*Mart seems to attract a certain clientele. Call me classist, elitist, otherist, but any closet anthropologist would observe that on this night everyone looks slightly dishevelled, the kiddies raucous and unruly, and no-one, I repeat, no-one, is smiling. Least of all the staff. I see arms full of large fake wicker furniture and blow up kiddy pools and cases of peaches for $1, and loud remarks about being a 'good deal'. In places like Macy's, Martha Stewart types smilingly contemplate whether the napkins and butter dish are the right shade of cornflower blue to match their soup tureen; in Fred Meyer, the department store denizens are less chi chi but not as earthy as the Wal*Martyer. There's a social superstore strata for everyone.
Not to be distracted by the deeply discounted George Foreman grills with matching dinner settings for 6, I went straight for the sewing section, repleat with bolts of blaring fabric for making raglan-sleeve sweatshirts and wide, baggy pants with elasticized waists. I immediately find a black zipper. Not just one, but different kinds - for sports wear, for bags, all different lengths and styles. I even find a length of fringe to add some frivolity to my bike shorts. I accidentally stray round the corner and find a Wilson black compression t-shirt for $7. Glancing furtively around I pull off all my layers to try it on. It fits, I am sold. The same thing with Oakley on it is $25. Some packers talk loudly about their latest lay as they trundle their carts by in the neighboring aisles.
Wal*Mart is not a pleasant place to hang. It's not designed to be - get in, get your goods, get out. They make sure you don't loiter and change your mind about that bargain set of sheets and duvet by offering truly awful food on the cafeteria - fried chips, a hot dog, and that's about it. Again, clever marketing - stay long enough to spend, but not long enough to get physically sick of being in such a sterile environment. For those of you who have not seen it, the movie "One Hour Photo" captures the spirit of Wal*mart brilliantly, and is one of my 10 favorite movies.
I shopped at Wal*Mart, where women go who like to sew, who don't have the money to trash a perfectly good garment, and in my case, want it to last a lifetime.
Yes, I found out why f*ing Wal*Mart exists.
A somewhat less glowing opinion of Wal*Mart
And some humor (sent to me by Slo Jo)
WHAT TO DO AT WALMART WHEN YOU'RE BORED
1. Get 24 boxes of condoms and randomly put them in people's carts when they aren't looking.
2. Set all the alarm clocks in House wares to go off at 5-minute intervals.
3. Make a trail of tomato juice on the floor leading to the rest rooms.
4. Walk up to an employee and tell him/her in an official tone 'Code 3' in house wares ... and see what happens.
5. Go to the Service Desk and ask to put a bag of M&M's on layaway.
6. Move a 'CAUTION - WET FLOOR' sign to a carpeted area.
7. Set up a tent in the camping department and tell other shoppers you'll invite them in if they'll bring pillows from the bedding department.
8. When a clerk asks if they can help you, begin to cry and ask 'Why can't you people just leave me alone?'
9. Look right into the security camera; use it as a mirror, and pick your nose.
10. While handling guns in the hunting department, ask the clerk if he knows where the anti-depressants are.
11. Dart around the store suspiciously, loudly humming the "Mission Impossible" theme.
12. In the auto department, practice your "Madonna look" using different size funnels.
13. Hide in a clothing rack and when people browse through, say "PICK ME!"
14. When an announcement comes over the loud speaker, assume the fetal position and scream "NO! NO! It's those voices again!!!!"
(And last, but not least!)
15. Go into a fitting room and shut the door and wait a while and, then, yell, very loudly, "There is no toilet paper in here!" |
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| Self Deploy or Self Deplore: A first hand Katrina report |
[Sep. 15th, 2005|03:23 pm] |
A doctor friend of mine in Eugene flew down to Houston to help Katrina survivors, despite receiving emails from local health organizations telling her not to 'self deploy'. I received this letter from her (unedited).
After reading it and looking at the NYT pics of the flood, believe me, I did not buy me that luxurious gift for my birthday after all. I am also proud that my current employer has posted this job offer for a Katrina survivor. Please circulate it, by sending people the link http://www.bikefriday.com/bf/katrina.
PAMELA IN THE NEWS: Eugene's KVAL newscast
+++
 Pamela at the Astrodome in Houston. Photo courtesy of whoever was kind enough to take it
Self Deploy or Self Deplore
Images of third world chaos confronted us on television sets throughout the world last week. Mostly african-american and impoverished victims of Hurricane Katrina remained stranded in New Orleans and throughout the small towns of the gulf coast. Seemingly paralyzed first world spectators sat fixed to the TV. The suffering crowds in the New Orleans Superdome chanting "Help, help, help!!" became vividly imprinted in my mind.
As a physician I was willing to help though several official communications by email indicated I was not needed and warned physicians "Do not self-deploy...". Though I received these warnings on a daily basis, I went with my conscience, my intuition that I was needed, and I "self deployed" to the Houston Astrodome where the victims were finally being bussed after surviving hurricane, flood, starvation, dehydration and near asphyxiation from bureaucratic red tape delays and inefficiencies.
The Houston Astrodome and surrounding buildings were prepared to accept up to 25,000 victims and the impressive "Astrodome Health Center" was created overnight. The makeshift hospital/clinic in the Reliant Arena included over 20 exam rooms, a pharmacy, radiology, lab, 24 hour observation, quarantine sleeping quarters, and specialty sections including pediatrics, orthopedics, social work, mental health and more. Staffed by Harris County Hospital District, the local doctors and residents helped as they were able. Volunteer doctors and nurses from out of state were a welcome relief, placed on 12 hour shifts with the locals.
When the buses began to arrive, only one internal medicine doctor was available to triage. Bus after bus lined up and though half the people were too faint to walk, they crawled off the bus so that others behind them could get out. Each person had a small plastic bag containing all their worldly possessions covered in human waste along with the poisonous gumbo that now surrounded their beloved hometown. The stench was overpowering. Their skin looked as if they had been dipped in hydrogen peroxide, especially the babies.
As patients were triaged to hospitals, others were rehydrated, fed and helped to small green cots which completely covered the Astrodome floor. Supplies were readily available and the refugees soon parted with their tattered bags in a large pile at the entrance to the arena as they realized their basic needs would be met. Though barely alive and heartbroken from their tragedy, they were peaceful, kind and incredibly polite.
I spoke to the doctor who was the first to care for the refugees and with tears in his eyes he recounted some of his experiences in those first few hours. A busload of dehydrated hospice patients arrived amidst the others without medical records, medication or food for days. He queried a gentleman about a curious severe sunburn limited to the very top of his head. The gentleman revealed that he stood two days packed so tightly with others on a small dry piece of land. They were so densely packed together that a deceased man beside him was even unable to fall.
Then there was a couple caring for 22 children during the storm as their apartment was considered the safest in the area. The couple then witnessed the complete destruction of the surrounding homes and deaths of the childrens' parents. Flood waters forced the couple to place the newly orphaned children on large pieces of furniture. Then 2 inflatable swimming pools were used to float away to higher ground.
In the corner of our makeshift hospital I pulled back the yellow plastic curtain with the taped piece of paper indicating room 9 and met a a sweet 57 year old woman named Beulah Chester. Beulah was covered in a rash and as she scratched her limbs visciously, she related the horrors of her past week.
Beulah, a piano teacher from the New Orlenas edgewood neighborhood, raised 102 foster children over 18 years and was caring for two boys, one mentally retarded and the other autistic, when Katrina hit. Initially relieved by the light damage she then noted the rising flood waters after the levees ruptured. She and the boys were forced to the second floor as she watched her beautiful organ and piano submerge along with a lifetime of photos and memorabilia.
Her neighbors screamed for hours and the stopped. Had they drowned she wondered. Later as she hitched a ride on a small boat out of a second story window with her two boys, she noted a deceased neighbor being tied to her home to preserve her identity. Stellah and her boys were soon deposited on a dry patch of I-10 and told to wait for rescue buses along with others.
She witnessed countless horrors at this I-10 bus stop without food or water for 2 days. A man arrived after losing his entire family and proceeded to climb the overpass and jump to his death in front of the "rescued" crowd. He lay face down floating in the now bloody waters surrounding his head as nightfall enveloped the eerie scene. People were screaming and other were seizing as Stellah tried to help and find a safe spot for her family to rest.
A woman arrived the next day with a small baby wrapped in a blanket. When Beulah went to peak at the baby the mother warned not to wake him. Beulah paused tearful as she told me the baby was as blue as my scrubs. She eventually was able to tell a passing police officer who took the baby from the shrieking woman and drove them both away. Their safe dry patch of I-10 was surrounded by the unbearable odor of sewage, death , and suffering.
She related the arrival of the buses and the transport to the Astrodome, the kindness of the people who have cared for her in Houston. "The last time I got this rash was when my mother passed, it's my nerves." Despite her traumas, Buelah had a beautiful smile, was incredibly polite and appreciative during our time together. I was amazed by her resilience. It was easy to treat her rash, insomnia, and replenish her diabetic supplies. Though more difficult, I was honored to hold her hands tenderly and allow her to begin the process of grieving a tragedy.
I remember a famous French Quarter musician known in room 8. He was to meet up with other musicians for a hurricane party the night of the storm. Sudden chest pain sent him to the ER instead. After a diagnosis of gastric reflux he was discharged but unable to leave due to the rising water. The ER moved to higher ground and eventually he was evacuated to the Astrodome with no possessions, CDs, all his music lost. He was here now to evaluate his diarrhea and to see if he needed to be quarantined. He also needed basic medical care for glaucoma, diabetes and with his guinness book of record toenails I suggested podiatry as well.
I saw many skin infections, chemical burns, diarrhea, and injuries. Some patients required admission for infected joints or pneumonia. Identifying chronic medications was challenging with lost medical records and pill bottles swept away. Most were on something for "sugar" and "pressure." I noticed the prescriptions from the Astrodome Pharmacy all had "Prescriber: Katrina, Hurricane" noted on the bottles. Can't say I have ever seen anything like that before! Despite the high rate of diabetes there was always a large box of krispy kreme doughnuts on the diabetic supply table beside the glucometers. Comfort foods I suspect.
I met so many heroes. Glen Beverly, an apartment manager of the St. Peter Claver Apartments, singlehandedly floated to safety all his tenants on a Winn Dixie freezer door. I discovered creativity and strength in the face of disaster, bravery, courage, and most impressive the resilient fun loving and open spirit of the survivors who worked collectively to save one another, placing the needs of others in front of their own.
At the Astrodome Health Center I served as family physician, social worker, orderly, and friend. When not caring for the patients, I was comforting the survivors from cot to cot on the Astrodome floor, passing out handmade soap, aroma therapy lotion, angel wings, lavender eye pillows, gifts from my hometown including money from a benefit garage sale on my street. The children were so curious and playful checking out my stethoscope and listening to each others hearts. I came to share my skill, offer an open heart and a helping hand.
For me it was a simple case of self deploy or self deplore. Leaving the comfort of the known and jumping in to help was the least I could do. Our leaders should disentangle themselves from their red tape and come out of their large offices and do the same.
Pamela Wible, MD
Write to her: roxywible at comcast dot net
Eugene, Oregon |
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