Pained on Wednesday, drained on Thursday. I couldn't have picked a better time to get sick. I was able to see the doctor, have a blood test, and start a monthlong course of antibiotics all within 3 hours, and since the kids are out of school and I'm not seeing students (who are all on vaca), I could sleep till 9 or 10 every morning. And voila! I'm feeling almost like new. I actually ran when the phone rang yesterday and took the stairs two-at-a-time today. My knee still locks up a bit, but moving it slowly and avoiding weird sitting positions basically keeps me feeling good.
Part of my convalescence has also involved doing normal things. Since Lyme (which I'm assuming this is) has symptoms that include irritability, it's been important to avoid sulking or doing lots of nothing. We put up shelves yesterday (ok, I helped Shirra put them up), I broke up some ice (well, actually that was mostly a total failure, but at least I got out), and I took Fiona to a friend's house and ended up having a lovely chat with the folks. Then today, we took a trip to the village to check out a restaurant in Water Street Market. The food was fine, and we had a good time thanks to a Mad Libs-style app that I downloaded for my iPhone.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Friday, December 25, 2009
Fireman No More
I resigned from the fire department. I was upset about having to do so, but the minuses easily outweighed the pluses.
I joined the department in December of 2006, so I resigned almost exactly 3 years after joining. In the interim, I answered over 550 calls and helped deal with a few house fires, a handful of car accidents, two cats-in-trees, and many many false alarms at the university (and a few elsewhere). Since joining, I also started collecting items related to fire fighting, including patches of local departments as well as many different kinds of antiques (old helmets, extinguishers, pins, and even artwork). All of that's going to eBay now, with the exception of my own badge (#952, on the right side of the photo). I think I have a few hundred dollars worth of stuff - maybe close to $1000.
I loved belonging to our department. I loved helping our community, and my favorite part of it was during Fire Prevention Week, when we visit all of the local schools and day-cares to teach the kids about fire safety and to introduce the little ones to a fire fighter in gear. I also liked being known as a fireman, which carries a certain panache that made me feel proud.
I wish I could have been more helpful to the department. I had trouble remembering where some important items were on the trucks, and only in recent months did I begin to feel like I knew where most of it was. Most likely this was due to my schedule: Because I could almost never be in New Paltz during Monday night training sessions, it took me much longer to learn my way around the trucks. In addition, I didn't get to practice the skills necessary to put out fires or extricate drivers, so most of what I did on a scene was the sort of grunt work that anyone could do. Occasionally I was of some value to the NPFD, but I wish I could have been even more helpful, even more often.
My first full year, I answered about 250 calls. Last year, the number was about 170. The final tally for '09 was 130. A large part of the decline came from my decision not to rush to the calls that came in from SUNY New Paltz. That boy called wolf far too often for my tastes. It didn't help that we live nearly 4 miles (and almost 10 minutes) from our fire house.
I fully support our fire department and hope that they get the funding for the upgraded fire house that's in the works. Maybe if my schedule (and a few other things) change, I can return, but for the next few years, I would count that out.
I joined the department in December of 2006, so I resigned almost exactly 3 years after joining. In the interim, I answered over 550 calls and helped deal with a few house fires, a handful of car accidents, two cats-in-trees, and many many false alarms at the university (and a few elsewhere). Since joining, I also started collecting items related to fire fighting, including patches of local departments as well as many different kinds of antiques (old helmets, extinguishers, pins, and even artwork). All of that's going to eBay now, with the exception of my own badge (#952, on the right side of the photo). I think I have a few hundred dollars worth of stuff - maybe close to $1000.
I loved belonging to our department. I loved helping our community, and my favorite part of it was during Fire Prevention Week, when we visit all of the local schools and day-cares to teach the kids about fire safety and to introduce the little ones to a fire fighter in gear. I also liked being known as a fireman, which carries a certain panache that made me feel proud.
I wish I could have been more helpful to the department. I had trouble remembering where some important items were on the trucks, and only in recent months did I begin to feel like I knew where most of it was. Most likely this was due to my schedule: Because I could almost never be in New Paltz during Monday night training sessions, it took me much longer to learn my way around the trucks. In addition, I didn't get to practice the skills necessary to put out fires or extricate drivers, so most of what I did on a scene was the sort of grunt work that anyone could do. Occasionally I was of some value to the NPFD, but I wish I could have been even more helpful, even more often.
My first full year, I answered about 250 calls. Last year, the number was about 170. The final tally for '09 was 130. A large part of the decline came from my decision not to rush to the calls that came in from SUNY New Paltz. That boy called wolf far too often for my tastes. It didn't help that we live nearly 4 miles (and almost 10 minutes) from our fire house.
I fully support our fire department and hope that they get the funding for the upgraded fire house that's in the works. Maybe if my schedule (and a few other things) change, I can return, but for the next few years, I would count that out.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
LYME?
All of a sudden two days ago, my right knee was swollen and painful to move. Initially I was hopping around, but within one day it went from annoying to almost debilitating. To my delight, my orthopedic surgeon (who'd helped with my left knee some months ago) had time to see me today. He immediately notified me that he would be draining the fluid (and that there was a lot of it) and that I might need a cortisone shot.
The weird thing about the onset of this pain and swelling was that there was no obvious cause: no painful fall, no bad twist, no overexertion. It made no sense. Then the doc mentioned that when kids come in with my symptoms, it's usually Lyme disease. I looked it up on Wikipedia, and sure enough, everything fit. The disease can come on suddenly and produces the painful swelling as well as a few symptoms I could also attest to, namely fatigue and mild irritability. Then I remembered that about six weeks ago, I was bitten by a deer tick.
We decided that the chance that I have Lyme is pretty high. Because of that, and because cortisone and Lyme don't usually mix, the only treatment for today was the fluid drainage. The syringe is huge, as is the needle, but they barely hurt going in, and the swelling and pain were mostly gone by the time they came out.After seeing Maeve at school for a little pre-winter-break party, I went for a blood test and picked up my pills. I'll know the results of the test pretty soon, and in the meantime, just to be on the safe side, I'm on amoxicillin 4 times a day (for a month). Then I came home and took another nap.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Cheewawa is Down, but not for the Full 10-Count
My beloved smart car nearly died last Thursday. I had just dropped Fiona off at the middle school and was on my way back home when the car suddenly lurched. The car behaved normally for a few more turns and then repeated its lurching, shifting between 1st and 2nd gear fairly violently. I turned the car off and on as a possible 'fix' to the problem: no luck; in fact, it got worse. I quickly considered where I could park the car without hindering traffic and where a tow truck could easily pick up the car. Eventually, thanks to the slope of the hill, the car glided into a parking lot and I pushed it into a spot.
Several frustrating phone calls later, I had discovered that my extended warranty company only covers towage up to $300 (better than the $100 that an earlier operator had told me). Still, because the car had to be towed nearly 90 miles, the charge would be over $500, leaving me responsible for the overage. When I called the tow company themselves, the dispatcher suggested Triple-A, since they have a very good policy for towing. Sure enough, the entire trip into and back from NYC was covered, with me responsible only for about $10 in tolls.
More frustrating, tho, was to discover only yesterday that the extended warranty somehow doesn't cover the problem with my car, which resided in something connected to the transmission called the switch plate. This is a piece of metal that was found to be too weak in the 2008 smart cars (like mine) and was, in the 2009 models, replaced. In other words, this is a known problem. It's a rare one, tho, and since I drive like a granny, the problem points not to my driving style but to the defect in the mechanism.
The good news is that the manager of smart center Manhattan is on my side. He was stunned that I was being forced to pay for the repair of a part that should not have broken and which is just a few steps above being recalled. He phoned the company and got them to shoulder a third of the cost, or about $300. I pick up the car later today. I hope it lasts at least another 65,000 miles before any other major repairs.
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
The Plowman Cometh
We got a call at 7 am: AJ, our plowman, was experiencing a delay. Apparently there was something wrong with his truck.
Since school had been canceled for the day, this wasn't a big issue. Eventually he'd come to our rescue, and until then, we could hang out at home with some hot chocolate and a dog who loves snow. Emmett and Maeve went sledding and found other fun things to do outside. Fiona got an extra two hours of sleep. On the minus side:
1. Jack doesn't actually like the snow. He's ok with it, but unlike one of his old friends, he doesn't dig himself into a tunnel or galavant about in the fluffy white stuff. He just lies down in it long enough to get wet. Then he comes back in and gets everything else wet. And when he goes for a walk, he'll get everything wetter still.
2. I needed to be in Manhattan by noon. This meant leaving around 9:45 just to leave myself some extra time. By 9:00, we hadn't seen or heard from AJ, so I gave him a call. His truck was back in action (phew) and he'd be by as soon as he could.
Sure enough, he arrived just after I'd dug out my little Cheewawa from its surrounding snow. Shirra and I also spent a half hour cleaning out some of the shed's overhang so that I have my cosy little place to park the tiny car. When AJ arrived, I hopped into the Smart and drove (carefully!) down the road behind him. It was lucky that he had to leave, too, because I got stuck just before our road merges with Rte 32, and he pushed me out of trouble.
I made it to Manhattan with no time to spare, parked in a spot only a Smart can fit into, and called the day a success. Now I just have to hope that the road doesn't freeze over by the time I get home tonight.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Thanksgiving 09
For the 2nd time in our four Novembers in New Paltz, we had Thanksgiving up at our house. Two years ago, we had a less-coordinated effort that still came off pretty well but was nowhere near as much fun as this go-round. It helped that we added "Beatles Rock Band" to the festivities, in keeping with the early settlers and their native American benefactors who, as we all learned in social studies class, played with beetles and rocks and wore (head)bands. Maybe not, but still, I strongly recommend Rock Band for all family situations, funerals included.
Before and after the music, there was a meal. 14 people filled our smallish dining room, requiring us to tilt the table 45 degrees (that is to say, it was diagonal) and to add side tables on either end, trapping window-side guests. Shirra cooked nearly everything we ate for the dinner -- and all of it was delicious -- tho all of the groups of guests contributed comestibles. My brother and his wife favored us with some amazing items from Trader Joe's, and my mom made two tasty sweet potato pies; Shirra's brother and his wife toted along some string beans for the meal as well as some crudite and dips. I ate more in that afternoon than in any three other days of the year.
THE BALLOONS. THOSE FRIGGIN' BALLOONS
And once again, we avoided NYC. Thanks to the circus that the balloon-inflation has turned into, there are sidewalk closures, late-night noise, and a few other hassles that easily outweigh the mild thrill of seeing the huge balloons being blown up just outside my old block. When I was a kid, it was bad enough that John and I would hear marching bands warming up at 6am outside our window (14 floors below), but in recent years, people have come out in droves much as they do for the lighting of the huge Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center. The difference is that at least with the tree, what little thrill there is, it's quickly over -- basically as soon as the tree is lit up for the first time. But with the balloons, people mill past all day as if they're excited about watching helium slowly fill up a large piece of fabric. In fact, seeing Dora the Explorer with only her head and limbs inflated might be quite distressing to a little kid and is certainly pretty boring to anyone else.
I guess that people think it's cool to see the balloons in their pre-parade state as if they're catching a dress rehearsal of a big musical, but as I know from personal experience, there is quite a difference between seeing Sweeny Todd before opening night and glimpsing a flaccid Pillsbury Doughboy.
Before and after the music, there was a meal. 14 people filled our smallish dining room, requiring us to tilt the table 45 degrees (that is to say, it was diagonal) and to add side tables on either end, trapping window-side guests. Shirra cooked nearly everything we ate for the dinner -- and all of it was delicious -- tho all of the groups of guests contributed comestibles. My brother and his wife favored us with some amazing items from Trader Joe's, and my mom made two tasty sweet potato pies; Shirra's brother and his wife toted along some string beans for the meal as well as some crudite and dips. I ate more in that afternoon than in any three other days of the year.
THE BALLOONS. THOSE FRIGGIN' BALLOONS
And once again, we avoided NYC. Thanks to the circus that the balloon-inflation has turned into, there are sidewalk closures, late-night noise, and a few other hassles that easily outweigh the mild thrill of seeing the huge balloons being blown up just outside my old block. When I was a kid, it was bad enough that John and I would hear marching bands warming up at 6am outside our window (14 floors below), but in recent years, people have come out in droves much as they do for the lighting of the huge Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center. The difference is that at least with the tree, what little thrill there is, it's quickly over -- basically as soon as the tree is lit up for the first time. But with the balloons, people mill past all day as if they're excited about watching helium slowly fill up a large piece of fabric. In fact, seeing Dora the Explorer with only her head and limbs inflated might be quite distressing to a little kid and is certainly pretty boring to anyone else.
I guess that people think it's cool to see the balloons in their pre-parade state as if they're catching a dress rehearsal of a big musical, but as I know from personal experience, there is quite a difference between seeing Sweeny Todd before opening night and glimpsing a flaccid Pillsbury Doughboy.
Monday, November 02, 2009
Halloween: NYC vs NP
This past weekend was Halloween, and for our third year, we joined in the Halloween parade down Main Street. This year, Maeve was dressed as a Devil Fairy; Emmett went as Percy Jackson, and Fiona was a Shadow Hunter from the Mortal Instruments series. For the 2nd year, I dressed as a headless giant holding his own head. The weather mostly cooperated, tho there were a few moments of drizzle.
About 5,000 people were in attendance as usual; people come from other towns just to strut their stuff down the strip and to marvel at the ingenuity of others. I particularly enjoyed seeing the people who went as home-made Tetris pieces and the man who dressed as Super Mario.
Luxury apartment buildings have their perks, but there are unexpected down sides. My mother's building, for example, was a great place to celebrate Halloween when my brother and I were kids. Back then, there were many children in the building, and it could take ages to get to all of the apartments even after the building instituted the sign-up sheets in the elevators. The sheets meant that trick-or-treaters could quickly decide which floors to hit and in what order, but there was still the delay caused by the glut of costumed kids patrolling for candy. But as apartment prices began escalating, the building underwent a change in its occupants. Once it was a place for young upper middle class families, but as the prices for apartments shot past a million dollars back in the '90s, the new buyers needed more money than a typical young doctor, lawyer, or pair of teachers could afford. Many of the dwellers stayed in their apartments, as my mother has done, and those who moved out were replaced by ultra-wealthy folks whose children, for the most part, were already teenagers or had already grown up. When I was young, the A/B elevator used to have at least a dozen kids living in 5 or 6 apartments. The sign-up sheet usually boasted at least as many apartments giving away candy. These days, of the 29 apartments in that line, there is currently only one apartment housing any children; it happens to have three, tho one or two of them might be too old for dressing up and seeking candy. In a few years, the kids in this apartment will grow up, and unless some new kids move in on that side of the building, there will be no children on the A/B line. The sign-up sheet this year was all but blank -- only two apartments were taking trick-or-treaters. I guess there was little harm in that: the entire building doesn't have enough school-age inhabitants to fill a small school bus.
Halloween is yet another reason to move to New Paltz. And don't even get me started on how the Macy*s Day parade has ruined Thanksgiving for me. That's a story for another blog.
About 5,000 people were in attendance as usual; people come from other towns just to strut their stuff down the strip and to marvel at the ingenuity of others. I particularly enjoyed seeing the people who went as home-made Tetris pieces and the man who dressed as Super Mario.
Luxury apartment buildings have their perks, but there are unexpected down sides. My mother's building, for example, was a great place to celebrate Halloween when my brother and I were kids. Back then, there were many children in the building, and it could take ages to get to all of the apartments even after the building instituted the sign-up sheets in the elevators. The sheets meant that trick-or-treaters could quickly decide which floors to hit and in what order, but there was still the delay caused by the glut of costumed kids patrolling for candy. But as apartment prices began escalating, the building underwent a change in its occupants. Once it was a place for young upper middle class families, but as the prices for apartments shot past a million dollars back in the '90s, the new buyers needed more money than a typical young doctor, lawyer, or pair of teachers could afford. Many of the dwellers stayed in their apartments, as my mother has done, and those who moved out were replaced by ultra-wealthy folks whose children, for the most part, were already teenagers or had already grown up. When I was young, the A/B elevator used to have at least a dozen kids living in 5 or 6 apartments. The sign-up sheet usually boasted at least as many apartments giving away candy. These days, of the 29 apartments in that line, there is currently only one apartment housing any children; it happens to have three, tho one or two of them might be too old for dressing up and seeking candy. In a few years, the kids in this apartment will grow up, and unless some new kids move in on that side of the building, there will be no children on the A/B line. The sign-up sheet this year was all but blank -- only two apartments were taking trick-or-treaters. I guess there was little harm in that: the entire building doesn't have enough school-age inhabitants to fill a small school bus.
Halloween is yet another reason to move to New Paltz. And don't even get me started on how the Macy*s Day parade has ruined Thanksgiving for me. That's a story for another blog.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
How NOT to Tow a Car
We packed up the soccer kids into Shirra's minivan and started down the driveway. The car felt odd; I got out to inspect, but I knew what it was before I'd looked: The car had a massively flat tire. It wasn't just a big soggy. By the time we noticed it, the tire was practically off the rim.
Luckily we've always belonged to AAA. I sent Shirra off in my Aztek and phoned for roadside assistance. Within an hour (ok, exactly 59 minutes later), the tow truck had arrived. The driver phoned me from the bottom of the hill. We decided that he'd drive past the car, turn around, drive past again (this time facing the right way), and then put the minivan onto his flatbed so that he could tow it into town. Then his truck got stuck in the muck.
He tried to rescue himself, to no avail.
So he called for backup. As I write this, another truck is en route from Beacon. It's going to reverse itself in our neighbor's driveway (nearly a quarter mile away), back up thru the curve, and pull my guy out. From that point, it should all go as planned.
Luckily we've always belonged to AAA. I sent Shirra off in my Aztek and phoned for roadside assistance. Within an hour (ok, exactly 59 minutes later), the tow truck had arrived. The driver phoned me from the bottom of the hill. We decided that he'd drive past the car, turn around, drive past again (this time facing the right way), and then put the minivan onto his flatbed so that he could tow it into town. Then his truck got stuck in the muck.
He tried to rescue himself, to no avail.
So he called for backup. As I write this, another truck is en route from Beacon. It's going to reverse itself in our neighbor's driveway (nearly a quarter mile away), back up thru the curve, and pull my guy out. From that point, it should all go as planned.
Monday, October 19, 2009
I Tooted in Anger
Maeve asked me to drive her to school today as a little treat. She seems to enjoy the bus, but we always have fun singing on our way to school, and she loves sitting beside me in the little Smart Car. When we got to the school, I decided to drive in the equivalent of the supermarket fast lane. This is an area around the right side of the building with a lollipop turn: You drop off your kid and, seconds later, drive off. It's only one lane wide and is closed off with a curb on both sides.
The woman in the minivan in front of me let her kid out of the door. Then another kid got out. Then a third. I was beginning to expect some clowns to step out of the car next. The clown who exited the car turned out to be the mom. She left the vehicle, chatted with a teacher, and then noticed something one of the kids had left in the car. She went back to the car, retrieved the item, and went into the building to give it to the kid. On her way back to the car, she talked some more to one of her kids and made a quick appointment with a passing teacher. Meanwhile, since we were kept from leaving, the queue was getting so long that cars were starting to have difficulty entering in order to drop off other kids.
Finally, Clown Mom started walking back around her car to get in. Just to make sure that she didn't get any ideas about going back to run a few more errands, I gave my car a little toot. As she started to get into her car, I hear her tell the teacher, "I think he must have bumped his horn by accident." Nope. And you're lucky this wasn't happening in Manhattan, Clown. I would have been sitting on that horn, and I wouldn't have waited quite so long.
The woman in the minivan in front of me let her kid out of the door. Then another kid got out. Then a third. I was beginning to expect some clowns to step out of the car next. The clown who exited the car turned out to be the mom. She left the vehicle, chatted with a teacher, and then noticed something one of the kids had left in the car. She went back to the car, retrieved the item, and went into the building to give it to the kid. On her way back to the car, she talked some more to one of her kids and made a quick appointment with a passing teacher. Meanwhile, since we were kept from leaving, the queue was getting so long that cars were starting to have difficulty entering in order to drop off other kids.
Finally, Clown Mom started walking back around her car to get in. Just to make sure that she didn't get any ideas about going back to run a few more errands, I gave my car a little toot. As she started to get into her car, I hear her tell the teacher, "I think he must have bumped his horn by accident." Nope. And you're lucky this wasn't happening in Manhattan, Clown. I would have been sitting on that horn, and I wouldn't have waited quite so long.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Food Review: The Bakery
Just off Main Street, down North Front St and next to one of the two bike shops in New Paltz, sits a free-standing building aptly named The Bakery. It's grown to a pretty large building these days; apparently it used to be quite cosy. According to one reviewer, there was a time when it could only seat 5 patrons. These days there is a fairly spacious downstairs area for placing orders and grabbing the local and state newspapers. Thru the rear door is a lovely little outside eating area. Upstairs are tables for several dozen customers as well as a play area for toddlers. It's a wonderful location, and in many ways it's the heart of New Paltz. The only things not working for The Bakery, it's sad to report, are the coffee and the food.
Minor quibbles, I know. A bakery used to be known as a place to get a tasty croissant, some pain au chocolat, or a cookie or cake. And this place has them all. There are also soups, salads, sandwiches, and other comestibles, as well as quite a few drink choices such as tea and chai. But lately the quality, which seems always to have been suspiciously low, has gone down. Call it a victim of the current economic trend, but when times get tough, some bakeries tough it out by raising prices or by purchasing less expensive ingredients. The Bakery seems to have opted for choice 2.
When we moved to New Paltz just over three years ago, we were thrilled to find a convenient local bakery, and when Shirra opened her store across the street from it, we thought that the gods were smiling upon us. Shirra lamented early on that the coffee was substandard, so she trekked a few yards up the hill to *$$ rather than saving money with The Bakery's weak and off-putting version. Shortly after that, however, we got a surprise in one of our toilets that put the kibosh on The Bakery for food, too.
One fall morning, one of the kids called Shirra to the bathroom. The material in the toilet was inhumanly green. We'd seen this once before and chalked it up to someone eating lots of veggies, but this time it was like something that had come out of a tube of green paint. And that's when Shirra remembered that the kids had been eating one of their favorite glazed yummies at The Bakery the day before. The green-hued poop earned its colors from a witch cupcake. If you're using so much dye in your food that a person shits grass-green, it's time to alter your formula. Since that wasn't happening, we did the next best thing: We altered our formula. Now, if the kids want baked goods, Shirra makes them herself or buys them at Muddy Cup. Now that's a great place for an afternoon snack!
Minor quibbles, I know. A bakery used to be known as a place to get a tasty croissant, some pain au chocolat, or a cookie or cake. And this place has them all. There are also soups, salads, sandwiches, and other comestibles, as well as quite a few drink choices such as tea and chai. But lately the quality, which seems always to have been suspiciously low, has gone down. Call it a victim of the current economic trend, but when times get tough, some bakeries tough it out by raising prices or by purchasing less expensive ingredients. The Bakery seems to have opted for choice 2.
When we moved to New Paltz just over three years ago, we were thrilled to find a convenient local bakery, and when Shirra opened her store across the street from it, we thought that the gods were smiling upon us. Shirra lamented early on that the coffee was substandard, so she trekked a few yards up the hill to *$$ rather than saving money with The Bakery's weak and off-putting version. Shortly after that, however, we got a surprise in one of our toilets that put the kibosh on The Bakery for food, too.
One fall morning, one of the kids called Shirra to the bathroom. The material in the toilet was inhumanly green. We'd seen this once before and chalked it up to someone eating lots of veggies, but this time it was like something that had come out of a tube of green paint. And that's when Shirra remembered that the kids had been eating one of their favorite glazed yummies at The Bakery the day before. The green-hued poop earned its colors from a witch cupcake. If you're using so much dye in your food that a person shits grass-green, it's time to alter your formula. Since that wasn't happening, we did the next best thing: We altered our formula. Now, if the kids want baked goods, Shirra makes them herself or buys them at Muddy Cup. Now that's a great place for an afternoon snack!
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Very Impressed with the Pigeons of NYC
On Sunday, I arrived back at my car, parked for 24 hours on 81st St and Columbus, across from the Planetarium. The car had been hit by 5 pigeons. 4 managed to score on the glass top of the car, but one enterprising pigeon got extra points for landing some guano right on the driver's side door handle. Wow. What really amazed me is that the nearest tree branch is at least 50 feet above. Given the size of the car, these birds pulled off the NASA equivalent of landing an unmanned rocket on the moon.
I planned to wash the car the next morning but forgot and then ran out of time. Good thing: The next day, the car had been hit a few more times. Kudos to the birds that hit the rear part of the car -- that thing is almost perfectly perpendicular to their location. The winning strike goes to the bird that managed to land a poop right on my rear window decal. This made it extra tricky to clean, since the decal can't withstand much scrubbing.
Hats off to the pigeons of New York City. On second thought, keep your hat on, just in case.
I planned to wash the car the next morning but forgot and then ran out of time. Good thing: The next day, the car had been hit a few more times. Kudos to the birds that hit the rear part of the car -- that thing is almost perfectly perpendicular to their location. The winning strike goes to the bird that managed to land a poop right on my rear window decal. This made it extra tricky to clean, since the decal can't withstand much scrubbing.
Hats off to the pigeons of New York City. On second thought, keep your hat on, just in case.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
80 Miles on a Unicycle
This post isn't about New Paltz... except that the distance I rode is almost exactly the same as my daily (one-way) commute to Manhattan. So theoretically I could ride to work. Not gonna happen.
I set out this past Sunday to ride my 2nd full Century. I made it 80% of the way.
I rode my only complete Century in 2003. Last year, I had 89 miles under my belt when I had to stop due to a really bad case of saddle soreness. Basically my cheeks looked like Kris Kringle's. I was determined not to let that happen again.
This ride starts at 6 am at the northern end of Central Park, but I took off earlier than that in order to avoid the rush and mainly to give myself a better chance of finishing by 6 pm, when the ride comes to an official end.
AVOIDING DIAPER RASH
I donned two pairs of padded cycle shorts and slathered on enough chamois butter for three people. I reapplied the butter thruout the day, and as a result, I suffered no friction pain during or after the ride. I do, however, have a better understanding of the term 'numbnuts.'
AVOIDING SUNBURN
It was a lovely sunny day -- too lovely, in fact, which is how I found myself terribly dehydrated midway thru -- so I was glad that I'd remembered sun block and that the stuff still worked. I applied some when the sun finally showed up at about 7:30 and then again a few hours later. I am not sure how much sunlight can filter thru the slats of my helmet, but I didn't want to end up looking like a zebra-head.
30 MILES in 3 HOURS
That's not a quick pace, but including breaks, and given how little training and general riding I'd done in the previous 12 months, I was happy with how things started for me. My breaks totaled about 40 minutes by mile 30, but while I was on the unicycle, I had been maintaining a 13.1-mph pace, which is quite fast given the frequent slow-downs and stops along this ride. I mainly stayed in high gear this time since last year's ride produced a catastrophic fall when the unicycle didn't shift gears properly, pretty much ending my ride (along with the raw bum cheeks).
I figured that I had 9 hours to complete the next 70 miles, an easy enough task. I'd felt good riding the 13 miles from my mom's apartment building (81st St off Central Park, Manhattan) to rest stop #1 (Prospect Park, Brooklyn). I felt pretty good riding from there to rest stop #2, 17 miles later. Unfortunately, the ride organizers had shortened the space between stops #2 and #3 without adding an addition stop between #3 and #4. This meant that riders had a 30-mile gap before the next big stop (Kissena Park, Queens). And after another hour of riding, I didn't think I'd ever make it that far.
WINDED and DEHYDRATED
It didn't help that we had a strong breeze blowing in our faces for most of the Queens segment of the ride. The bikers complained about it, too, but they acknowledged that I probably had it worse because my sitting position (on a unicycle) makes me much less aerodynamic than they are. There were plenty of times where, because of the wind and my exhaustion, I rode in low gear at about 6-8 miles an hour.
At some point I finally realized that my muscles were screaming for more water and more electrolytes, but at the time I just felt like I had lost all of my energy. When it dawned on me that I was dehydrated, I started drinking a lot more from my backpack hydration system, nearly emptying its recently-replenished 70-oz bladder. This meant that from that point on, I frequently had to stop in order to empty my own (less-than-70 oz) bladder, and since the organizers had forgotten to include even one portable toilet between rest stops, I invented quite a few of my own. Sorry, Queens.
I stopped frequently between mile 40 and mile 50, and pretty soon I had most of the gas back in my proverbial tank. During my recovery period of about two hours, I wasn't able to maintain more than 12 mph and at some points had to put the uni into low gear, but after about two hours, I was back to about 80% strength, able to keep up with some of the slower-paced bikers for long stretches.
LOST
At this point, it actually helped that I got lost. I had been riding with a pack of about 20 bikers. Whenever we came to a busy intersection, I managed to weave thru the traffic before the rest of my pack; I've been good at reading traffic ever since I began serious uni commuting 10 years ago. The peloton would pass me between stop lights, and then I'd catch up to them, zig and zag thru the cars, and get ahead once more. At about mile 50, I was feeling strong, and as I approached the group waiting for the light, I jokingly announced, "I'm making my move!" as I crossed against the light once again. By the time I looked back, I realized that I'd missed a turn (probably at that light). I was either going to have to find my way back to the course (impossible, since I didn't have a map), return to the spot where I'd gone off course (perhaps adding an additional mile to my ride), or I could ride straight to Kissena Park (rest stop #3), which I discovered was just two miles away. I opted to shorten this part of my ride, and I arrived at the 60-mile rest stop after riding just 53 miles. It was about 11:30 am.
I was more than halfway thru the 100-mile mark in under half the time, but I began to admit to other riders that it was very unlikely that I'd complete the full Century. Pathetically, I managed only 27 more miles in the remaining 4.5 hours.
FINAL REST STOP and the SILLY BRIDGE
After Kissena Park, I set out for the Astoria Park rest stop about 20 miles away. I was feeling better thanks to all the water and electrolytes I was consuming, but I still needed to take breaks just to get some blood flow back into my groin. Because of the long pauses I'd had to take earlier on, I arrived at the final stop -- mile 81 or so for everyone else, mile 74 for me -- too late to have a good shot at finishing 100 miles by 6 pm. I chatted with two guys who were riding a tandem (same ratio of rider to wheel as me, I pointed out, but apparently they still had an easier time), and eventually we all headed off.
This last little stretch (of about 5 miles) stupidly involves a bridge that has an incomplete biking section which forces riders to carry their cycles up and down several series of steps. I have no idea why Transportation Alternatives continues to use this bridge on the route, but it was the final nail in the coffin for my Century chances since it slowed us all down as, like little ants carrying grasshoppers to the anthill, we all made our way across the span. Last year it happened to be worse -- there were more of us trying to cross at the time -- but it still took over 10 minutes to get across about a mile of space. I arrived at the finish line, having ridden 78 miles, at 5 pm. I briefly considered pedaling around the park at least once more, to add 5 miles to my trip, but I decided to call it a day and head back to my car, 2+ miles away. It wasn't 100 miles, but I was happy with the ride, especially considering my lack of preparation, the heavy wind for about 20 miles, and my ability to fight back after that dehydration.
AFTERMATH
I took a strong hot shower (my mom's apartment building has firehouse-power water pipes thanks to old plumbing) and remembered that same experience last year when I could barely tolerate even the coolest mild drip on my ruby-red cheeks. Soon I was driving back to New Paltz, feeling fine. Later that night, I awoke with a weird pain in my wonky left knee, but it went away by the following morning. I have only one muscle that's even slightly sore: my left bicep (!) from holding the extention on my uni. For the first time after a ride over 80 miles, I was able to ride a unicycle the next day.
I set out this past Sunday to ride my 2nd full Century. I made it 80% of the way.
I rode my only complete Century in 2003. Last year, I had 89 miles under my belt when I had to stop due to a really bad case of saddle soreness. Basically my cheeks looked like Kris Kringle's. I was determined not to let that happen again.
This ride starts at 6 am at the northern end of Central Park, but I took off earlier than that in order to avoid the rush and mainly to give myself a better chance of finishing by 6 pm, when the ride comes to an official end.
AVOIDING DIAPER RASH
I donned two pairs of padded cycle shorts and slathered on enough chamois butter for three people. I reapplied the butter thruout the day, and as a result, I suffered no friction pain during or after the ride. I do, however, have a better understanding of the term 'numbnuts.'
AVOIDING SUNBURN
It was a lovely sunny day -- too lovely, in fact, which is how I found myself terribly dehydrated midway thru -- so I was glad that I'd remembered sun block and that the stuff still worked. I applied some when the sun finally showed up at about 7:30 and then again a few hours later. I am not sure how much sunlight can filter thru the slats of my helmet, but I didn't want to end up looking like a zebra-head.
30 MILES in 3 HOURS
That's not a quick pace, but including breaks, and given how little training and general riding I'd done in the previous 12 months, I was happy with how things started for me. My breaks totaled about 40 minutes by mile 30, but while I was on the unicycle, I had been maintaining a 13.1-mph pace, which is quite fast given the frequent slow-downs and stops along this ride. I mainly stayed in high gear this time since last year's ride produced a catastrophic fall when the unicycle didn't shift gears properly, pretty much ending my ride (along with the raw bum cheeks).
I figured that I had 9 hours to complete the next 70 miles, an easy enough task. I'd felt good riding the 13 miles from my mom's apartment building (81st St off Central Park, Manhattan) to rest stop #1 (Prospect Park, Brooklyn). I felt pretty good riding from there to rest stop #2, 17 miles later. Unfortunately, the ride organizers had shortened the space between stops #2 and #3 without adding an addition stop between #3 and #4. This meant that riders had a 30-mile gap before the next big stop (Kissena Park, Queens). And after another hour of riding, I didn't think I'd ever make it that far.
WINDED and DEHYDRATED
It didn't help that we had a strong breeze blowing in our faces for most of the Queens segment of the ride. The bikers complained about it, too, but they acknowledged that I probably had it worse because my sitting position (on a unicycle) makes me much less aerodynamic than they are. There were plenty of times where, because of the wind and my exhaustion, I rode in low gear at about 6-8 miles an hour.
At some point I finally realized that my muscles were screaming for more water and more electrolytes, but at the time I just felt like I had lost all of my energy. When it dawned on me that I was dehydrated, I started drinking a lot more from my backpack hydration system, nearly emptying its recently-replenished 70-oz bladder. This meant that from that point on, I frequently had to stop in order to empty my own (less-than-70 oz) bladder, and since the organizers had forgotten to include even one portable toilet between rest stops, I invented quite a few of my own. Sorry, Queens.
I stopped frequently between mile 40 and mile 50, and pretty soon I had most of the gas back in my proverbial tank. During my recovery period of about two hours, I wasn't able to maintain more than 12 mph and at some points had to put the uni into low gear, but after about two hours, I was back to about 80% strength, able to keep up with some of the slower-paced bikers for long stretches.
LOST
At this point, it actually helped that I got lost. I had been riding with a pack of about 20 bikers. Whenever we came to a busy intersection, I managed to weave thru the traffic before the rest of my pack; I've been good at reading traffic ever since I began serious uni commuting 10 years ago. The peloton would pass me between stop lights, and then I'd catch up to them, zig and zag thru the cars, and get ahead once more. At about mile 50, I was feeling strong, and as I approached the group waiting for the light, I jokingly announced, "I'm making my move!" as I crossed against the light once again. By the time I looked back, I realized that I'd missed a turn (probably at that light). I was either going to have to find my way back to the course (impossible, since I didn't have a map), return to the spot where I'd gone off course (perhaps adding an additional mile to my ride), or I could ride straight to Kissena Park (rest stop #3), which I discovered was just two miles away. I opted to shorten this part of my ride, and I arrived at the 60-mile rest stop after riding just 53 miles. It was about 11:30 am.
I was more than halfway thru the 100-mile mark in under half the time, but I began to admit to other riders that it was very unlikely that I'd complete the full Century. Pathetically, I managed only 27 more miles in the remaining 4.5 hours.
FINAL REST STOP and the SILLY BRIDGE
After Kissena Park, I set out for the Astoria Park rest stop about 20 miles away. I was feeling better thanks to all the water and electrolytes I was consuming, but I still needed to take breaks just to get some blood flow back into my groin. Because of the long pauses I'd had to take earlier on, I arrived at the final stop -- mile 81 or so for everyone else, mile 74 for me -- too late to have a good shot at finishing 100 miles by 6 pm. I chatted with two guys who were riding a tandem (same ratio of rider to wheel as me, I pointed out, but apparently they still had an easier time), and eventually we all headed off.
This last little stretch (of about 5 miles) stupidly involves a bridge that has an incomplete biking section which forces riders to carry their cycles up and down several series of steps. I have no idea why Transportation Alternatives continues to use this bridge on the route, but it was the final nail in the coffin for my Century chances since it slowed us all down as, like little ants carrying grasshoppers to the anthill, we all made our way across the span. Last year it happened to be worse -- there were more of us trying to cross at the time -- but it still took over 10 minutes to get across about a mile of space. I arrived at the finish line, having ridden 78 miles, at 5 pm. I briefly considered pedaling around the park at least once more, to add 5 miles to my trip, but I decided to call it a day and head back to my car, 2+ miles away. It wasn't 100 miles, but I was happy with the ride, especially considering my lack of preparation, the heavy wind for about 20 miles, and my ability to fight back after that dehydration.
AFTERMATH
I took a strong hot shower (my mom's apartment building has firehouse-power water pipes thanks to old plumbing) and remembered that same experience last year when I could barely tolerate even the coolest mild drip on my ruby-red cheeks. Soon I was driving back to New Paltz, feeling fine. Later that night, I awoke with a weird pain in my wonky left knee, but it went away by the following morning. I have only one muscle that's even slightly sore: my left bicep (!) from holding the extention on my uni. For the first time after a ride over 80 miles, I was able to ride a unicycle the next day.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Truck Fire
As I drove home yesterday, I saw a police car racing south on I-87. I figured the officer was chasing down a speeder, tho I hadn't noticed anyone driving fast on the other side of the highway. Then a second police cruiser zoomed past. This was curious. Where were they headed. It occurred to me that maybe they were rushing to the scene of an accident.
Up ahead, I spotted more flashing lights and initially figured that the accident must be just up ahead of me. I was partly right, but the lights I saw weren't rotating blue and red; they were blazing orange and yellow. Soon enough I noticed the flames and the truck they were attached to. The driver of the truck had pulled off the road and was about 200 feet ahead of the blaze. Presumably he'd noticed a problem, pulled onto the shoulder, and gotten out to alert authorities.
As I drove past, I could feel the intense heat radiating off the truck. It must have been over 1000 degrees.
Within a few minutes, the road was closed off behind the truck; it isn't really safe to drive past fully engulfed trucks, as they do have a wee tendency to explode. The police shut down the highway for a few minutes, and after three more drivers had passed me, I had the eerie experience of being the only driver on the road for miles and miles.
Up ahead, I spotted more flashing lights and initially figured that the accident must be just up ahead of me. I was partly right, but the lights I saw weren't rotating blue and red; they were blazing orange and yellow. Soon enough I noticed the flames and the truck they were attached to. The driver of the truck had pulled off the road and was about 200 feet ahead of the blaze. Presumably he'd noticed a problem, pulled onto the shoulder, and gotten out to alert authorities.
As I drove past, I could feel the intense heat radiating off the truck. It must have been over 1000 degrees.
Within a few minutes, the road was closed off behind the truck; it isn't really safe to drive past fully engulfed trucks, as they do have a wee tendency to explode. The police shut down the highway for a few minutes, and after three more drivers had passed me, I had the eerie experience of being the only driver on the road for miles and miles.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Last First Day of School
Maeve is 5 and is off to kindergarten. She had fun in pre-school at the Huguenot St. cooperative, but that program only went 9-11:30 or 9-12 (depending on kids' ages), so Shirra and I were thrilled whenever summer came and her camp took her for the full day. She's a confident kid who enjoys wherever she is and whoever she's there with, so the longer she can have fun outside of home, the better. After all, we get plenty of her on the weekends, during our fabulous summers, and before and after the school day. We're thrilled that she's the kind of kid who enjoys school and isn't afraid to grow up.
We're not afraid for her to grow up, either. We've always believed in shepherding our kids into the world so that they can be strong, independent, and happy people. I can understand how other parents get weepy at the thought of their children leaving the nest in one way or another, but really, isn't that the point of raising children? To my way of thinking, there's something unrealistic or almost selfish about crying when your little one goes off to school for the first time. Don't be sad to see them onto that bus; be thrilled that they're about to begin that big adventure! It's an exciting day.
This change-of-pace is especially thrilling when it's your first kid or your last kid. With Fiona, we assumed the best, and our expectations were exceeded. She had a great time in kindergarten. It helped that I was a teacher in her school; I got to see her all the time, even visiting her classroom once a week for a special activity. We sent Emmett to the same school when he turned 3, and even before that, he'd already had a great time in his 2s program at the Brooklyn Montessori; he didn't even look back at us when he ran into that classroom for the first time. Maeve has already had a few good days and has made some friends; she likes her teacher and the assistant teacher. We're excited for her. It's only a matter of time until she's bigger than her backpack.
We're not afraid for her to grow up, either. We've always believed in shepherding our kids into the world so that they can be strong, independent, and happy people. I can understand how other parents get weepy at the thought of their children leaving the nest in one way or another, but really, isn't that the point of raising children? To my way of thinking, there's something unrealistic or almost selfish about crying when your little one goes off to school for the first time. Don't be sad to see them onto that bus; be thrilled that they're about to begin that big adventure! It's an exciting day.
This change-of-pace is especially thrilling when it's your first kid or your last kid. With Fiona, we assumed the best, and our expectations were exceeded. She had a great time in kindergarten. It helped that I was a teacher in her school; I got to see her all the time, even visiting her classroom once a week for a special activity. We sent Emmett to the same school when he turned 3, and even before that, he'd already had a great time in his 2s program at the Brooklyn Montessori; he didn't even look back at us when he ran into that classroom for the first time. Maeve has already had a few good days and has made some friends; she likes her teacher and the assistant teacher. We're excited for her. It's only a matter of time until she's bigger than her backpack.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Bad Store Manners
While waiting to buy something at Dedricks (off Main St -- doesn't everyone know Dedricks?), I noticed a woman who appeared to be in front of me but who was talking on her cell phone. She wasn't talking loudly, but she was in the middle of a conversation. When the counterwoman asked to help whoever was next, I glanced at Ms Cell Phone expectantly but figured she would have stepped up to the cash register if it was really her turn. So I handed the cashier my items. Ms Cell Phone took her mouth away from the phone long enough to tell the cashier that she was next. The cashier told Ms Cell Phone that she couldn't help a customer who was talking on the phone.
No, there isn't a sign posted to this effect. Ms Cell Phone was right about that. But she was wrong to be piqued. After all, she was talking on the phone while waiting to be helped in a store and while standing in front of other people in line. How many things can she do at once? The cashier was right (and brave enough) to point this out to Ms Cell Phone, who got annoyed and threatened to take her business elsewhere.
I nearly said something. My alter ego, Voice of Society Man, has rested quietly for three years since we moved to New Paltz. I've always reckoned that the person you give the finger to one day could be sitting beside you at at PTA meeting the next. Ever since we've been in New Paltz, I've been extremely careful to keep VoS Man from donning his superhero uniform in order to put people in their place. But it nearly killed me to hold my tongue. Here's what I almost said:
"You're right. They should have a sign posted about not talking on a cell phone while waiting to be helped. They should also have a sign telling you to say please and thank you. And another sign to ask you not to slam the door on the way out. And another sign reminding customers not to let their kids knock all the shit off the shelves. If only there were more signs telling us how to behave. How are we to know?"
No, there isn't a sign posted to this effect. Ms Cell Phone was right about that. But she was wrong to be piqued. After all, she was talking on the phone while waiting to be helped in a store and while standing in front of other people in line. How many things can she do at once? The cashier was right (and brave enough) to point this out to Ms Cell Phone, who got annoyed and threatened to take her business elsewhere.
I nearly said something. My alter ego, Voice of Society Man, has rested quietly for three years since we moved to New Paltz. I've always reckoned that the person you give the finger to one day could be sitting beside you at at PTA meeting the next. Ever since we've been in New Paltz, I've been extremely careful to keep VoS Man from donning his superhero uniform in order to put people in their place. But it nearly killed me to hold my tongue. Here's what I almost said:
"You're right. They should have a sign posted about not talking on a cell phone while waiting to be helped. They should also have a sign telling you to say please and thank you. And another sign to ask you not to slam the door on the way out. And another sign reminding customers not to let their kids knock all the shit off the shelves. If only there were more signs telling us how to behave. How are we to know?"
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