As some have noticed, this tour is apparently sitting still, at least on the larger-scaled maps. Still, I have been getting out more often than not, visiting different cultural attractions, puttering around, and (finally!) getting enough tools to actually replace a broken spoke. (There’s something that I have yet to see in a touring guide. So here it is: you need a spoke wrench, chain whip, cassette lockring tool, and a big enough wrench to leverage that tool. That’s 3-4 pounds to replace a multi-gram spoke. There’s got to be a better way.)
Anyway, here are some recent events: over the last weekend I visited my step-brother, J–, and his lovely wife M–. It’s odd to think of him as a “step-brother” since our families were linked for over a decade before my dad and his mom actually eloped, sending an email with a picture of them happily before a Justice of the Peace in northern New Mexico. As they were into their 60s or 70s (the timing escapes me) at the time, the family’s scandalization was a bit on the affected side. Anyway, J– remarked he thought he’d missed me in a comment to the last post and I was immediately prodded into action. There was no reason I couldn’t take the Caltrain up to San Francisco, and so I hatched plans rapidly, and happily, he and M– were free that weekend. Off I went, on a nice long train ride, except for the pre-drunk Giants fans and one car that sounded so tortured every time it turned you wondered if it was going to derail.
I chose not to bring my bike, which turned out to be a good idea–the Honda Impulse that J– picked me up in would have been a real job to fit the massive Fuji into. My plan for the evening was to go to Urban Dharma, a Dharma Punx-affiliated sitting group. It was not to be, alas; my train was late (cf. Giants fans), and traffic was bad so J– was a bit late (ibid.), and finally, we ran smack into a Critical Mass ride. Of course, being San Francisco it wasn’t just any Critical Mass–this was where the whole idea was born so it was massive–thousands of bikers defining the traffic flow of the streets. It was joyous, I was perfectly okay with the delay. And I was really, really hungry, so I scrubbed the sitting mission and we met up with M– for sushi instead.
That began a long, happy conversation that lasted through a good bit of the night and most of the next day. M– is from Japan, and J– is fluent as few adult learners of Japanese are, and has lived and worked in Japan and with Japanese business partners for much of his professional life. Not surprisingly, Japan, its weirdness, and the United States and its weirdness, and navigating between them, were frequent topics. I absolutely love exploring other cultures, and I also tend to feel a bit weird when doing so around people actually from them; I worry that I’m asking them implicitly to be an ambassador, and maybe they’d rather just talk about their favourite TV show or something. I suspect this is a white guy thing that ironically impairs intercultural dialogue, something we’re sorely in need of in this world.
The next day we had some really lovely pastries and fruit, artfully arranged by M–, and then headed out for a breakfast that could be described with grand understatement as “substantial.” I noted the chilliness of the weather and J– shared a famous Mark Twain quote: “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.” I happened later to be reading about SF’s World Naked Bike Ride day, and the email list had a brief discussion suggesting that the ride be moved to a warmer day–in September. Sheesh.
We toured Fort Point, an old artillery installation near Golden Gate park. Pictured is their handicap-access system, which has been preserved in its period form from the late 19th century.
(All right, I’m having you on. I’m not sure what that thing is for.)
I also got some superb pictures at the Conservatory of Flowers in Golden Gate park. They had a clever set-up there to show off butterfly development, a rack of cocoons at different stages, so that you can generally witness a butterfly emerging.
Over there is a monarch butterfly just emerging. Incidentally, posting these things is a pain–flickr makes it really easy to make a blog post of one, but not multiples. Anyone who knows how to do this right, drop me a comment.
Back at J– and M–’s house again, I got to see M–’s art, mostly monoprints, a kind of lithography that gives mostly one-off images, since it’s stuff painted onto the litho, rather than etched into it. She uses a variety of media–glue, acrylics, paint sticks I think, among others–to get interesting, somewhat unpredictable affects. That uncertainty, she says, is part of the appeal for her, and the effects are a kind of semi-abstract work that’s a kind I like.
My host J– was keen that I should give him a shout-out in my journal after my fulsome praise of A– and M– and how cool they are. I pointed out that the most hits I’ve ever gotten was about 40. (Six of which, he immediately quipped, were from our mom, in the inimitable family style. The sharp banter around the dinner table was tough for me to adjust to when I was a sensitive lad, but I miss the repartee now.) So anyway, here is your shout-out, my brother: J– and M– were unstintingly generous with time and energy and interest, going into overtime without complaint when it conflicted with their original weekend plans (how’s the movie script going, eh?). I especially enjoyed all the wordplay, something I don’t get as much of as I once did.
I returned to A– and M–’s place around 9:00 PM. We had a late dinner–burgers by M–, very tasty–and chewed the fat a while. I was excited finally to meet A–’s daughter S–, and was amused to see how much his daughter she is. At 14, she’s precociously funny, energetic, and aware, and from reports, a fine martial artist in the making. I liked her instantly, and quickly developed an avuncular, protective feeling towards her. I suppose that’s sensible given my brotherly feelings for her dad.
While the father & daughter team went off Sunday to beat on each other, M– and I went to a game store and picked up Set and Robo Rally. We got to play them later; the former turne dout to have a radical gender divide. In one round of play A– and I went entirely scoreless while M– and S– battled between themselves. It would be interesting to see if this holds true across the board or if it’s a fluke. We also played my perennial favourite, Jungle Speed, and though A– had expressed reservations about the trash-talking aspect (there’s a long post coming up about the difference between force and violence, a wonderful dialogue that A– & I have developed to a very refined degree over years), he got into the spirit of it after a bit.
Finally we all went to see the latest Indiana Jones franchise. Fun, but it doesn’t bear close scrutiny all that well. I happen to have just seen the first movie again yesterday, and overall, I just don’t like Spielberg’s ham-fisted directing very much. Harrison Ford holds up amazingly well as a sex symbol though.
So, finally, onto the new topic. I got the new bike Monday, only to find that a critical part was damaged in shipment. This threw me into mourning for a bit, after the long wait. Eventually I got the replacement part (the folks at Hostel Shoppe were most helpful), and took the bike for a spin. Wait! No, I didn’t. I sat in the seat paralyzed with fear. Yes, it turns out, the set of skills for a recumbent is totally different, and basically I’m learning to ride a bike all over again. Lifting my second leg up above my center of gravity, it turns out, is not something I’m willing to just blithely pull off.
So now enter J–, who had been helping M– and I with moving stuff around for the epic paint job that the house has been getting. (There is much low comedy to it, suffice to say it has not gone to plan and no one is very happy with the contractor.) Her assistance there was invaluable, as M–’s “baby brain” and my–well, I don’t have an excuse really but staying on task is challenging for me. Anyway, having enabled all sorts of ass-kicking on that front, J– showed great kindness and caring in being willing to push the bike behind me while I got shakily up to speed, staying encouraging, and keeping the task light-hearted. It really was a major hurdle and words fail me to express my gratitude; I had been ready to just pack it up and send it back.
So chalk up a win there, and now I “just” need to get myself to where I can hit the pedal with my left foot, give a push, and get my other foot pushing in one go. I can cheat a little and pump one pedal repeatedly on a normal bike but you can’t really do that on a ‘bent. We’ll see how it goes from here.
