I lost my badge chasing the bus this morning, so I went home for lunch to pluck it out of the grass where it fell out of my bag. It is a nice day, so I walked through the Plaza to catch the MAX back to work.
This is when the best bus ride ever began.
I got to the stop just as the last bus was leaving. A new bus was coming onto the route, so it was queuing there waiting to leave. I started talking to one of the guys at the stop and he said it was going to take forever, but I asked the driver and he said he was leaving at 12:19. We both got on the bus and sat there for about 10 minutes, so there is already a bit of feeling antsy to get rolling.
About 4 minutes before the bus was scheduled to leave, this lady gets on. She asks the driver if he is leaving at the scheduled time, which she knows by heart. He says yes and she boards. She then asks the driver to direct her to a seat and starts pointing out options all over the bus. "Shall I sit here, or shall I sit here next to the gentleman in gray tie". At this point, we don't know how to react yet, so we're just sorta looking at each other and reacting in disbelief.
After no response, she then inexpicably calls out "if there is a doctor on this bus, please come forward."
A couple of guys tell her she can just sit down right up front. She continues to stand and says "does anyone have a cellphone," to which people ask why. "I need you to make a call for me." Getting little response, she shouts to the whole bus: "Raise your hand if you have a cell phone."
She forgets about that for a bit and starts to sit down, at which point she asks us if we can tell her where to stow her luggage. The guy next to her tells her to just set it on the floor next to her seat. "I don't trust, I don't trust, I don't trust," she says.
Another guy with a phone, growing concerned, asked her about the call. He continued to ask who she needed to call, to which she finally replied with a number. He asked for her name and she wouldn't give it to him. "Why would you ask that, so you can tell them who is calling?" Finally, she says something like "Ms. So-and-so" and he tells them on the phone. The guy tries to explain what is up and he asks her who she is calling for, at which time she says "nevermind" and he apologizes.
The guy then asks her if she knows where she is going. She says stuff like "I don't know this town" and "I'm lost and alone and I need help." Finally, he asked her if she was supposed to be out, at which time she replied that she wasn't and that she snuck out without her guardian or chaperon. She got a kick out of this and kept talking about what would happen if she got caught, what people thought of her sneaking away and how she could find her chaperone again.
When we heard that she was sneaking away, we told the driver and he said that she has been on this bus for the last 3 weeks with the same thing every time. The bus driver then goes into a hilarious escapade about how bus driving isn't easy. "I go home and my wife says 'all you did all day was sit in a bus' -- if she did this for 1 mile, she'd pull over and go jump in a lake."
"I'd like to go jump in a lake," said the crazy lady.
At this point, other people in the bus are saying stuff like "not today, you wouldn't" and then the lady behind me just paused and said "oh, mercy" with a laugh.
At that point, a firetruck was coming through a light and the bus came to an abrupt stop. About every 2 minutes after that, the crazy lady talked about how she hurt herself on that abrupt stop. She was wondering if she should take a pit stop to go see a doctor. At this point, half the bus is chuckling as the crazy lady is bending her arm wildly and making fists. "As long as it bends, there is no cause for concern. As long as I can make a fist, there is no cause for concern."
We also had a stop at 39th where some guy who apparently just hangs out at the stop and stops the bus without wanting to get on it harassed the driver.
At this point, we're telling the driver this is the best bus ride ever. He suggests we could all sing KumByYah, to which the crazy lady excitedly responds "lets do it!" and then sinks when nobody starts singing. We're all laughing and talking with each other by this point and I'm debating whether I can stay on the bus and circle back.
I thank the driver as I exit and he laughs and says "if you enjoyed your ride, tell me, if you didn't, tell others!"
I'm telling you. It was awesome.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Changing formations
In the soccer match of life, I'm subbing out a stable midfielder for a holding forward. I'm pushing for the goal and hopefully the win. I'm either going to win this game or lose it. Ties are boring.
On > Foward H&R Block
Off < Midfielder Sprint
On > Foward H&R Block
Off < Midfielder Sprint
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
The hunter and the hunted
As my helmet-mounted light blazed through the night sky last night, I wondered why I even bothered to have it on. The thick aftermath of the "freedom to make loud noises" celebration was lingering, filling the low spots with so much thick smoke that I could taste it as I slipped through on my bike, which was now a aggressively geared single speed thanks to a broken derailleur cable. The smoke didn't budge and limited my visibility to mere feet in front of me, reflecting the light back to me and reminding me that I was probably taking years off of my life by breathing the stuff in.
Ahh, but how else could we celebrate representation for our taxation than to burn things?
Aside from being mostly useless in the smoke cloud last night, my light does prove to make my rides more interesting. The light employs the same technology as the latest luxury cars, casting a blinding pure white light that transforms the trail ahead into daylight. For racing on rocky singletrack trails at night, this light is a blessing. For riding around smoke-filled Johnson County at midnight, this light is insanely overkill but a lot of fun.
I'm used to strange reactions from the light. I've had plenty of cars pull over, thinking they'd been nabbed when the gleam hit their mirrors. Approaching cars slow down, not sure what to expect. When riding side-by-side with another HID-equipped rider, it has to look like a jacked-up machine is approaching. It is the law enforcement identity that always creates the most laughs, though, and last night was no exception.
Fireworks are illegal in Johnson County in what appears to be a universally unpopular and mostly disregarded decree likely imposed by some wealthy control freaks. While I agree that fireworks are a colossal waste that pollutes the air and puts countless people (especially children) at risk of injury, there is no denying the value of the thrill people get from loud booms.
In search of this thrill, a large group of teenagers was huddled over some forbidden contraband in a school parking lot. As I passed, I swung the beam of my light their direction and as I came up over the rise that was hiding them, I saw them running for the hills. They must have thought they had been nabbed, but they ran without looking back around the school, completely visible in the lit parking lot the entire time. They were lucky I wasn't a real cop because there is no way they could have gotten away, especially if I was chasing them on a bike. (I'll save my "there should be more cops -cops that are capable riders- on bikes" rant for another time)
Finally, one kid turned around and noticed that the light wasn't coming from a car. He ran a bit more, turned again, looked puzzled and then continued running. He did this until he was pretty sure I had passed, still trying to figure out what the heck was going on. The bright light coming out of nowhere is probably the same strange sight that causes cars to pull over and neighborhood residents to call the police reporting strange sightings.
One such sighting must have been what happened last night, later in my journey. I pulled off into an alleyway to evacuate excess liquids. Admittedly, I picked an alley in a popular J.C. Nichols shopping district in Fairway, which wasn't the best place to blatantly disregard the law by attending to my body's demands. As I emerged from the alley, a Fairway squad car pulled up with its spotlight trained on me.
The cop barked at me, sounding as if he had just had a career breakthrough high-profile bust.
"What are you hiding for?"
Luckily, I was no longer standing there unloading my bladder and I calmly stood there as if I was simply taking a biology-unrelated break. When the officer got a good look at me, I'm guessing I wasn't the renegade teenager he was expecting. I told him I wasn't hiding and was moving along and he stuttered "oh...uh...okay" and just sat there as I rode off. I turned the corner into Westwood, the next suburb, and watched him circle the lot, obviously looking for something.
I left my big, law enforcement enticing light off for the rest of the night.
Ahh, but how else could we celebrate representation for our taxation than to burn things?
Aside from being mostly useless in the smoke cloud last night, my light does prove to make my rides more interesting. The light employs the same technology as the latest luxury cars, casting a blinding pure white light that transforms the trail ahead into daylight. For racing on rocky singletrack trails at night, this light is a blessing. For riding around smoke-filled Johnson County at midnight, this light is insanely overkill but a lot of fun.
I'm used to strange reactions from the light. I've had plenty of cars pull over, thinking they'd been nabbed when the gleam hit their mirrors. Approaching cars slow down, not sure what to expect. When riding side-by-side with another HID-equipped rider, it has to look like a jacked-up machine is approaching. It is the law enforcement identity that always creates the most laughs, though, and last night was no exception.
Fireworks are illegal in Johnson County in what appears to be a universally unpopular and mostly disregarded decree likely imposed by some wealthy control freaks. While I agree that fireworks are a colossal waste that pollutes the air and puts countless people (especially children) at risk of injury, there is no denying the value of the thrill people get from loud booms.
In search of this thrill, a large group of teenagers was huddled over some forbidden contraband in a school parking lot. As I passed, I swung the beam of my light their direction and as I came up over the rise that was hiding them, I saw them running for the hills. They must have thought they had been nabbed, but they ran without looking back around the school, completely visible in the lit parking lot the entire time. They were lucky I wasn't a real cop because there is no way they could have gotten away, especially if I was chasing them on a bike. (I'll save my "there should be more cops -cops that are capable riders- on bikes" rant for another time)
Finally, one kid turned around and noticed that the light wasn't coming from a car. He ran a bit more, turned again, looked puzzled and then continued running. He did this until he was pretty sure I had passed, still trying to figure out what the heck was going on. The bright light coming out of nowhere is probably the same strange sight that causes cars to pull over and neighborhood residents to call the police reporting strange sightings.
One such sighting must have been what happened last night, later in my journey. I pulled off into an alleyway to evacuate excess liquids. Admittedly, I picked an alley in a popular J.C. Nichols shopping district in Fairway, which wasn't the best place to blatantly disregard the law by attending to my body's demands. As I emerged from the alley, a Fairway squad car pulled up with its spotlight trained on me.
The cop barked at me, sounding as if he had just had a career breakthrough high-profile bust.
"What are you hiding for?"
Luckily, I was no longer standing there unloading my bladder and I calmly stood there as if I was simply taking a biology-unrelated break. When the officer got a good look at me, I'm guessing I wasn't the renegade teenager he was expecting. I told him I wasn't hiding and was moving along and he stuttered "oh...uh...okay" and just sat there as I rode off. I turned the corner into Westwood, the next suburb, and watched him circle the lot, obviously looking for something.
I left my big, law enforcement enticing light off for the rest of the night.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Encircling Lightening
It is pretty common to hear someone say "luckily, I got home just in time to miss the storm".
Last night, I was lucky to get caught in it.
I almost didn't. I was riding home and decided, for no apparent reason, to continue going north on Lamar. As I approached I35, I got a call asking me if I was coming to the Wednesday Urban Exploration ride. Typically, I don't get out of the 'burbs in time, but it was running late and they hadn't left. I met the guys on Southwest Boulevard and a great ride ensued.
We made a loop through some cool areas in Argentine and Armourdale in KCK as the sky grew ominous. On my way down Lamar, I had heard that Leavenworth County was experiencing some pretty gnarly weather and we could see the looming darkness approach as we made our way through the interesting areas of these neighborhoods.
On State Ave, we stopped at El Taconazo, a tasty joint that is run by Mexicans for Mexicans. Walking in is like a throwback to the days of segregation. You are very welcome there, but you get strange looks from the patrons surprised to see a pack of gringos come in.
The place rules. The food is great and the environment real. The TV was showing the Mexico vs. Trinidad soccer match and the place was full with people enjoying it. We ordered our food just as the rain started to fall. Not long after, a man (presumably the owner) offered to unlock his outdoor covered patio area so we could shelter our bikes from the rain.
The rain intensified. The collective let out a gasp as the power blinked on and off a few times. The hail started. This was fun! We were strange when we walked in but we are now another group riding out the storm together, all of us suspended there while the hail pelted the ground outside. The weather gave people something to talk about and everyone relaxed. Any awkwardness or racial tension that might have existed disappeared and we were all one happy family in there.
If only it was hailing all the time.
The most violent part of the storm passed, so we ventured out in the rain to finish our ride home. The lightening was majestic, wrapping around the sky dramatically. Each flash would spread its light across the wet pavement as if the pavement itself was a backlit sheet. Deep streams of runoff carried their debris across the roads and swirled into potholes as we splashed through them. The pavement stretched the alternating colors of the stoplights for blocks and blocks, with red streaks in the pavement in front of my wheel warning me of the required stop far off in the distance. In the residential neighborhoods, the single streetlights on the corners cast a stripe of reflecting light down the block -- a ribbon I could follow to see the road.
Every bit of the city is different in the rain. It is nature's way of giving the city a natural high -- enhancing its contours, lights and colors -- and, as always, riding is the best way to experience it.
Nothing beats how storms enhance a ride and nothing beats how hail enhances society.
Last night, I was lucky to get caught in it.
I almost didn't. I was riding home and decided, for no apparent reason, to continue going north on Lamar. As I approached I35, I got a call asking me if I was coming to the Wednesday Urban Exploration ride. Typically, I don't get out of the 'burbs in time, but it was running late and they hadn't left. I met the guys on Southwest Boulevard and a great ride ensued.
We made a loop through some cool areas in Argentine and Armourdale in KCK as the sky grew ominous. On my way down Lamar, I had heard that Leavenworth County was experiencing some pretty gnarly weather and we could see the looming darkness approach as we made our way through the interesting areas of these neighborhoods.
On State Ave, we stopped at El Taconazo, a tasty joint that is run by Mexicans for Mexicans. Walking in is like a throwback to the days of segregation. You are very welcome there, but you get strange looks from the patrons surprised to see a pack of gringos come in.
The place rules. The food is great and the environment real. The TV was showing the Mexico vs. Trinidad soccer match and the place was full with people enjoying it. We ordered our food just as the rain started to fall. Not long after, a man (presumably the owner) offered to unlock his outdoor covered patio area so we could shelter our bikes from the rain.
The rain intensified. The collective let out a gasp as the power blinked on and off a few times. The hail started. This was fun! We were strange when we walked in but we are now another group riding out the storm together, all of us suspended there while the hail pelted the ground outside. The weather gave people something to talk about and everyone relaxed. Any awkwardness or racial tension that might have existed disappeared and we were all one happy family in there.
If only it was hailing all the time.
The most violent part of the storm passed, so we ventured out in the rain to finish our ride home. The lightening was majestic, wrapping around the sky dramatically. Each flash would spread its light across the wet pavement as if the pavement itself was a backlit sheet. Deep streams of runoff carried their debris across the roads and swirled into potholes as we splashed through them. The pavement stretched the alternating colors of the stoplights for blocks and blocks, with red streaks in the pavement in front of my wheel warning me of the required stop far off in the distance. In the residential neighborhoods, the single streetlights on the corners cast a stripe of reflecting light down the block -- a ribbon I could follow to see the road.
Every bit of the city is different in the rain. It is nature's way of giving the city a natural high -- enhancing its contours, lights and colors -- and, as always, riding is the best way to experience it.
Nothing beats how storms enhance a ride and nothing beats how hail enhances society.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Mama said there'd be days like this...
Yesterday was race #7 of the Midwest Fat Tire Series, a series in which I aspire to win the very competitive expert class.
Two weeks after gaining a spot or two due to mechanical problems among my competitors, karma came back to bite me. I was on pace to win this race, which would have marked my first win ever as an expert. I was sitting in second behind Jason Stiger, a guy who I've been racing neck and neck with since beginner class, and I was less than 1 minute behind him. He is known to start fast and strong and take his time in the first lap while I get faster as the race progresses, so I was confident when I knew we were going to be doing 3 laps of this very demanding course.
On the homestretch of lap 2, I started to notice my rear tire losing air pressure. It started to wash out on the rocks, so I was forced to stop and attend to it. It seemed like the tubeless tire may just have lost its seal, so I blasted it with a CO2 shot. It seemed to hold, so I got back on and started hauling. By the end of lap 2, the tire was losing pressure again and slowing me down, but I was still holding my own, so I tried to ride through it.
Early in lap 3, the tire rolled off the rim and planted me firmly into the forest, leaving me a bit scratched and my head aching from smacking the group. I immediately noticed that the metal-on-metal sound I had heard during the ordeal was my stem twisting itself out of alignment on the steerer tube, meaning the my tire was pointed hard right when my handlebars were straight. I tried to compose myself, dug the tools out of my jersey pocket and went to work righting the stem. Instead of putting a tube in the rear tire like I should, I stubbornly tried to seal it again, thinking that even if it was leaking, it would be faster to top it off 2 or 3 times than it would be to stop, take the back wheel off and put a tube in an uncooperative tubeless tire.
Wrong. A mile or two later, I was off the bike, changing the flat trailside as the last of my class finally overtook me. For the rest of the race, I didn't have it in me to fight anymore. I was riding very strongly and it wasn't enough, but it was beyond my control.
This is part of racing. It will teach me to have my bike completely ready on race day. It will teach me to be patient, keep working and come out even stronger for the next race. It is only a matter of time until my points competition gets a flat or two. They won't catch me, flats or no flats, as long as I can stay on my bike.
Two weeks after gaining a spot or two due to mechanical problems among my competitors, karma came back to bite me. I was on pace to win this race, which would have marked my first win ever as an expert. I was sitting in second behind Jason Stiger, a guy who I've been racing neck and neck with since beginner class, and I was less than 1 minute behind him. He is known to start fast and strong and take his time in the first lap while I get faster as the race progresses, so I was confident when I knew we were going to be doing 3 laps of this very demanding course.
On the homestretch of lap 2, I started to notice my rear tire losing air pressure. It started to wash out on the rocks, so I was forced to stop and attend to it. It seemed like the tubeless tire may just have lost its seal, so I blasted it with a CO2 shot. It seemed to hold, so I got back on and started hauling. By the end of lap 2, the tire was losing pressure again and slowing me down, but I was still holding my own, so I tried to ride through it.
Early in lap 3, the tire rolled off the rim and planted me firmly into the forest, leaving me a bit scratched and my head aching from smacking the group. I immediately noticed that the metal-on-metal sound I had heard during the ordeal was my stem twisting itself out of alignment on the steerer tube, meaning the my tire was pointed hard right when my handlebars were straight. I tried to compose myself, dug the tools out of my jersey pocket and went to work righting the stem. Instead of putting a tube in the rear tire like I should, I stubbornly tried to seal it again, thinking that even if it was leaking, it would be faster to top it off 2 or 3 times than it would be to stop, take the back wheel off and put a tube in an uncooperative tubeless tire.
Wrong. A mile or two later, I was off the bike, changing the flat trailside as the last of my class finally overtook me. For the rest of the race, I didn't have it in me to fight anymore. I was riding very strongly and it wasn't enough, but it was beyond my control.
This is part of racing. It will teach me to have my bike completely ready on race day. It will teach me to be patient, keep working and come out even stronger for the next race. It is only a matter of time until my points competition gets a flat or two. They won't catch me, flats or no flats, as long as I can stay on my bike.
Monday, May 30, 2005
12 Hours on the bike
In September, I will race my bike for 12 hours a few times, culminating with the grueling Rapture in Misery, which I aspire to win someday. In a race like that, you keep riding because you have to. You crank onward deliriously, often outside of yourself, until the rocks don't even register in your head. It hurts, but the sense of satisfaction is overwhelming.
Today, I spent 12 hours on my bike. Not constantly riding, mind you, and not always at any forced pace. I spent 12 hours on my bike because I was riding in a city I love and a city that was alive with activity today.
I started by heading downtown after stopping for Jamaican BBQ at Black Belt in Westport. Downtown was crammed with traffic because of people leaving a graduation at Municipal, so I weaved and dodged the traffic, fancying myself a bicycle commuter in a congested city. Then, it was the River Market in what has become an almost-daily pilgrimage to 200 Main. The office conversion on 2nd Street has renderings up that look great.
In the River Market, there was a couple walking their dog that was offering directions to some visitors with Nebraska plates. As I rode by, I found myself turning around and observing from across the street. In the back of my mind, I was hoping there would be something that the guy offering directions wouldn't know. I was hoping they could ask me and I could help. I long to interact with visitors. I love to leave them with a positive impression of Kansas City and thank them for coming. I've even ridden ahead of a lost couple downtown, allowing them to follow me to their intended destination.
Yes, I'm from here. Yes, I know how to get there. Please ask me. I would absolutely love to help and I really, really want you to enjoy your stay.
I tried to help some little girls this afternoon as well, but that effort was put to a stop by Kansas City's finest. I stumbled upon the setup for the "celebration at the Station," a fireworks show and free symphony concert at Union Station. I decided that I'd explore KCK all afternoon and make it back to the station at 7:30 when the party got started. When I returned, I explored the crowds and checked out the new MAX bus that was on display. I worked my way toward the Memorial and on my way up the hill, I noticed a group of little girls huddled together, pointing upward at the monument. One of them had lost her grip on her helium balloon and it was floating away. The girls were vigilantly acting as spotters, scheming what would obviously be an impossible balloon recovery plan.
As soon as I figured out what they were talking about, I realized that I could swing around the side of the retaining wall and climb up the steep access road, putting myself in the path of the balloon in time to snag it and return it to the girl. The crosswind was giving the balloon more run and less rise, keeping it in reach if I could gain altitude quickly. I downshifted and stomped down on the pedals, riding with a sense of purpose, and as I swung around the corner with the balloon in sight, the police officer motioned for me to stop and summoned me. I was told I couldn't pass through that way. I conceded, thanked him and turned around to see the balloon drift away.
Sorry, little girl. I really thought I could get that balloon back for you.
All in all, the last 12 hours were very rich ones. On Troost, I guy waved at me for help and I smacked a pair of pliers against his starter while he tried to start his car. I met friends at Broadway Cafe, where a strange man shared his conspiracy theories with us. I ran into a procession of Catholics, marching down the middle of Broadway muttering strange things about Mary, solidifying my opinion that Catholics are weird and a tad scary. I was showered with "git yo ass on the sidewalk" in the heart of KCK, where I rode the entire length of the stigmatized Quindaro Boulevard before travelling the entire length of Wyandotte County north to south. I tried to no avail to set off a drive-through sensor to get a root beer float. I took a short break in the park, where I laid down in the grass to watch the birds deal with the same headwind I had been working against earlier. I met another friend on the great lawn of Liberty Memorial as the fireworks display was ending -- a display I watched rising over the Midtown skyline as I rode down Broadway. I had drunk guys pretend to jump out in front of me in Westport and drank peach tea in the Crown Center parking garage. I tried to speak Spanish when I ordered a tasty fresh fruit treat from Tropicana, the Hispanic dessert shop on Southwest Boulevard. I climbed the concrete stairs of an abandoned school in the heart of Quindaro to check out the amazing view. I found neighborhoods I had never seen and navigated on the fly. I watched the post-bar pickup process between the primped girls and frat boys on the Plaza. I dinged my bell to the delight of awe-struck little kids and was flashed a peace sign by a woman who told me, in a thick Irish accent, that she wished there were more bike lanes and she admired me for riding my bike.
I love this city and I love how much I can experience just by being here and going outside. By going for a simple bike ride, I did a ton of cool stuff today.
The only thing I didn't do was catch that balloon.
Today, I spent 12 hours on my bike. Not constantly riding, mind you, and not always at any forced pace. I spent 12 hours on my bike because I was riding in a city I love and a city that was alive with activity today.
I started by heading downtown after stopping for Jamaican BBQ at Black Belt in Westport. Downtown was crammed with traffic because of people leaving a graduation at Municipal, so I weaved and dodged the traffic, fancying myself a bicycle commuter in a congested city. Then, it was the River Market in what has become an almost-daily pilgrimage to 200 Main. The office conversion on 2nd Street has renderings up that look great.
In the River Market, there was a couple walking their dog that was offering directions to some visitors with Nebraska plates. As I rode by, I found myself turning around and observing from across the street. In the back of my mind, I was hoping there would be something that the guy offering directions wouldn't know. I was hoping they could ask me and I could help. I long to interact with visitors. I love to leave them with a positive impression of Kansas City and thank them for coming. I've even ridden ahead of a lost couple downtown, allowing them to follow me to their intended destination.
Yes, I'm from here. Yes, I know how to get there. Please ask me. I would absolutely love to help and I really, really want you to enjoy your stay.
I tried to help some little girls this afternoon as well, but that effort was put to a stop by Kansas City's finest. I stumbled upon the setup for the "celebration at the Station," a fireworks show and free symphony concert at Union Station. I decided that I'd explore KCK all afternoon and make it back to the station at 7:30 when the party got started. When I returned, I explored the crowds and checked out the new MAX bus that was on display. I worked my way toward the Memorial and on my way up the hill, I noticed a group of little girls huddled together, pointing upward at the monument. One of them had lost her grip on her helium balloon and it was floating away. The girls were vigilantly acting as spotters, scheming what would obviously be an impossible balloon recovery plan.
As soon as I figured out what they were talking about, I realized that I could swing around the side of the retaining wall and climb up the steep access road, putting myself in the path of the balloon in time to snag it and return it to the girl. The crosswind was giving the balloon more run and less rise, keeping it in reach if I could gain altitude quickly. I downshifted and stomped down on the pedals, riding with a sense of purpose, and as I swung around the corner with the balloon in sight, the police officer motioned for me to stop and summoned me. I was told I couldn't pass through that way. I conceded, thanked him and turned around to see the balloon drift away.
Sorry, little girl. I really thought I could get that balloon back for you.
All in all, the last 12 hours were very rich ones. On Troost, I guy waved at me for help and I smacked a pair of pliers against his starter while he tried to start his car. I met friends at Broadway Cafe, where a strange man shared his conspiracy theories with us. I ran into a procession of Catholics, marching down the middle of Broadway muttering strange things about Mary, solidifying my opinion that Catholics are weird and a tad scary. I was showered with "git yo ass on the sidewalk" in the heart of KCK, where I rode the entire length of the stigmatized Quindaro Boulevard before travelling the entire length of Wyandotte County north to south. I tried to no avail to set off a drive-through sensor to get a root beer float. I took a short break in the park, where I laid down in the grass to watch the birds deal with the same headwind I had been working against earlier. I met another friend on the great lawn of Liberty Memorial as the fireworks display was ending -- a display I watched rising over the Midtown skyline as I rode down Broadway. I had drunk guys pretend to jump out in front of me in Westport and drank peach tea in the Crown Center parking garage. I tried to speak Spanish when I ordered a tasty fresh fruit treat from Tropicana, the Hispanic dessert shop on Southwest Boulevard. I climbed the concrete stairs of an abandoned school in the heart of Quindaro to check out the amazing view. I found neighborhoods I had never seen and navigated on the fly. I watched the post-bar pickup process between the primped girls and frat boys on the Plaza. I dinged my bell to the delight of awe-struck little kids and was flashed a peace sign by a woman who told me, in a thick Irish accent, that she wished there were more bike lanes and she admired me for riding my bike.
I love this city and I love how much I can experience just by being here and going outside. By going for a simple bike ride, I did a ton of cool stuff today.
The only thing I didn't do was catch that balloon.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Another parking lot, another lost opportunity
KCDowntown, from the KC Skyscrapers forum, captures what all the fuss is about when it comes to parking downtown, extending the law of induced demand from roads to their natural extension.
It is refreshing to know that other people are thinking about these things.
It is refreshing to know that other people are thinking about these things.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Common sense is lost on the jaded
On a recent afternoon enjoying a delightful array of shops and eateries in the Westport neighborhood, I overheard a little girl ask a question that was incredibly profound. This was lost on her dad, however, who was so programmed by the world he is used to that he didn't even consider why she would ask the question in the first place.
We were in a small loop of shops along Pennsylvania St, a street beloved by Kansas City urbanites for its intimacy and pedestrian scale. However, in the section we were standing, the shops are set back from the street to accommodate a small parking lot and a u-shaped drive. This is a lot I've always disliked. When enjoying a meal at a patio table in front of Californos, one has the charming view of a pile of cars in temporary storage. On a street that is so perfectly human scaled, this lot is a giant hole.
The girl's question?
"Daddy, why are there cars here?"
She was just strolling along, taking in all of the visuals, when she turned to the lot and stopped short. She turned her head at the array of cars, thought to herself and then asked the question.
Her dad didn't miss a beat. He didn't get it. He responded that there were cars here because people parked them there, insulting the girl with his oversimplified explanation that completely missed the point and failed to reward the girl for her insight. Little did this girl know that she knows more about this topic than daddy does. Dissatisfied with the response, you could tell the girl still felt as if she had an open, unresolved question. As her dad prodded her to continue on their walk, you could almost see her give up and then resume walking along with her dad.
When I heard it, I did the same thing. I stopped in my tracks. I've spent tons of time trying to explain why cars don't belong. I try to deal with the balance between the realities of car dependence that conflict with great urban spaces. She didn't have to deal with all of that. She didn't worry about anyone's preconceived notions. She just asked the obvious question.
The little girl hasn't had to deal with driving. Her dad's SUV with its Kansas plates reveal that her reality is the suburbs. To her, this actual neighborhood must feel like a park, with cars being out of place when compared to the sprawling parking lots of suburbia. Her experience of all of the stimuli of a dense, leafy urban street was affronted by these cars. It didn't feel right in her clever little brain.
If only it didn't feel right for everyone else. I'm convinced it doesn't feel quite right, but adults don't know anything else. We're used to it. It is normal. We don't ask for more and we don't really have relationships with our built environments anymore.
I had to resist the urge to answer that question for the girl... or, better yet, sit down and ask her what she meant by the question. We could learn a lot from her. Sadly, by the time people are articulate enough to communicate the feelings that their environment elicits from them. By that time, they are numb.
Hopefully this is changing. If only everyone was as smart as that little girl. I hope she keeps on asking "stupid" and "absurd" questions like that one and the rest of us follow her lead. As part of his response, daddy said "I parked here," which solidified his lack of perspective, as if the correct question would be "why are there not cars here?" I mean, what a killer parking spot! Front row!
Front row parking for a place that is destroyed by front row parking, but it sure is great to find a spot!
We were in a small loop of shops along Pennsylvania St, a street beloved by Kansas City urbanites for its intimacy and pedestrian scale. However, in the section we were standing, the shops are set back from the street to accommodate a small parking lot and a u-shaped drive. This is a lot I've always disliked. When enjoying a meal at a patio table in front of Californos, one has the charming view of a pile of cars in temporary storage. On a street that is so perfectly human scaled, this lot is a giant hole.
The girl's question?
"Daddy, why are there cars here?"
She was just strolling along, taking in all of the visuals, when she turned to the lot and stopped short. She turned her head at the array of cars, thought to herself and then asked the question.
Her dad didn't miss a beat. He didn't get it. He responded that there were cars here because people parked them there, insulting the girl with his oversimplified explanation that completely missed the point and failed to reward the girl for her insight. Little did this girl know that she knows more about this topic than daddy does. Dissatisfied with the response, you could tell the girl still felt as if she had an open, unresolved question. As her dad prodded her to continue on their walk, you could almost see her give up and then resume walking along with her dad.
When I heard it, I did the same thing. I stopped in my tracks. I've spent tons of time trying to explain why cars don't belong. I try to deal with the balance between the realities of car dependence that conflict with great urban spaces. She didn't have to deal with all of that. She didn't worry about anyone's preconceived notions. She just asked the obvious question.
The little girl hasn't had to deal with driving. Her dad's SUV with its Kansas plates reveal that her reality is the suburbs. To her, this actual neighborhood must feel like a park, with cars being out of place when compared to the sprawling parking lots of suburbia. Her experience of all of the stimuli of a dense, leafy urban street was affronted by these cars. It didn't feel right in her clever little brain.
If only it didn't feel right for everyone else. I'm convinced it doesn't feel quite right, but adults don't know anything else. We're used to it. It is normal. We don't ask for more and we don't really have relationships with our built environments anymore.
I had to resist the urge to answer that question for the girl... or, better yet, sit down and ask her what she meant by the question. We could learn a lot from her. Sadly, by the time people are articulate enough to communicate the feelings that their environment elicits from them. By that time, they are numb.
Hopefully this is changing. If only everyone was as smart as that little girl. I hope she keeps on asking "stupid" and "absurd" questions like that one and the rest of us follow her lead. As part of his response, daddy said "I parked here," which solidified his lack of perspective, as if the correct question would be "why are there not cars here?" I mean, what a killer parking spot! Front row!
Front row parking for a place that is destroyed by front row parking, but it sure is great to find a spot!
The times they are a changin'
I was talking with my friend Pete, who has returned to the venerable original Dairy Queen that was my employer on and off for 5 years. He said it "just isn't the same" as it used to be. What he was lamenting is the fact that there is virtually no sense of community or pride among the workforce like there was when I started there in high school. Despite its less-than-glamorous fast food associations, I think a lot of people that I worked with took pride in their job at DQ. I know I did. We were a tight knit group that tried to a do a good job. We wanted to succeed. Being a manager was easy because everyone wanted to do a good job. A good team at DQ was a well oiled machine that worked well together, had a good time and made customers happy. I actually didn't mind going to work. I made lasting friendships with my co-workers and I had a relationship with the store. In fact, on the way back from a recent bike race, I complained about DQ changing the name of the Mr. Misty to some marketing-eze like "Arctic Slushpile" or whatever the crap.
So, to continue my old man "in my day" revelations, I realized that in my day, people just cared more. Especially young people. I think my generation was the last of those that didn't feel as if they were entitled to everything. We had a work ethic and we had social cohesion. Now the job is just the paycheck the person deserves. The co-workers are just people you deal with to earn your money. You put in your time, you don't try to enjoy it nor concern yourself with the quality of your work, and you make sure to complain about it no matter what. In my day, DQ was one of the best places to work. Now, it is just a job.
The relationship goes both ways. I think the existing DQ staff had a cohesion that gracefully brought in newbies. Now, more than ever, everyone is a cog in the wheel. I'm sure the change of ownership that DQ underwent changed the culture, but the generational gap was already apparent with the new employees that started during my summers home from college.
This is just like the corporate world, where a good relationship with your employer often meant a lifetime of employment. At Sprint, name badges at workstations used to be made out of molded plastic. The name was embossed on this, a veritable plaque with all of its connotations of nobility and permanence. If you want to fire somebody, you at least have to eat the $5 sunk costs of the namebadge.
Now, each cubicle has a plastic holder that holds a little slip of paper with a name laser printed on it. They are so easily changed that they are a common tool of the practical joker. The company's investment in your identity is 1/3 of a sheet of paper.
The old guard still hangs onto those plastic name badges from their old locations, though I doubt they give them much comfort. Placing them to display is a subtle form of protest, staking out a little more ownership to your piece of the profit floor than the company would care to give you.
Of course, it will only take an extra 10 seconds to pull down the plastic namebadge and throw it in the trash. Lets hope the slips of paper that replace them don't suffer from the same problems that destroyed what it meant to make Blizzards with pride.
So, to continue my old man "in my day" revelations, I realized that in my day, people just cared more. Especially young people. I think my generation was the last of those that didn't feel as if they were entitled to everything. We had a work ethic and we had social cohesion. Now the job is just the paycheck the person deserves. The co-workers are just people you deal with to earn your money. You put in your time, you don't try to enjoy it nor concern yourself with the quality of your work, and you make sure to complain about it no matter what. In my day, DQ was one of the best places to work. Now, it is just a job.
The relationship goes both ways. I think the existing DQ staff had a cohesion that gracefully brought in newbies. Now, more than ever, everyone is a cog in the wheel. I'm sure the change of ownership that DQ underwent changed the culture, but the generational gap was already apparent with the new employees that started during my summers home from college.
This is just like the corporate world, where a good relationship with your employer often meant a lifetime of employment. At Sprint, name badges at workstations used to be made out of molded plastic. The name was embossed on this, a veritable plaque with all of its connotations of nobility and permanence. If you want to fire somebody, you at least have to eat the $5 sunk costs of the namebadge.
Now, each cubicle has a plastic holder that holds a little slip of paper with a name laser printed on it. They are so easily changed that they are a common tool of the practical joker. The company's investment in your identity is 1/3 of a sheet of paper.
The old guard still hangs onto those plastic name badges from their old locations, though I doubt they give them much comfort. Placing them to display is a subtle form of protest, staking out a little more ownership to your piece of the profit floor than the company would care to give you.
Of course, it will only take an extra 10 seconds to pull down the plastic namebadge and throw it in the trash. Lets hope the slips of paper that replace them don't suffer from the same problems that destroyed what it meant to make Blizzards with pride.
Friday, May 20, 2005
On unbelievable moves, Blunt raises the bar with razing a bridge
Missouri Governor Matt Blunt, a guy with virtually no redeeming qualities who called my beloved city and other democratic strongholds places "where nobody wants to live anymore" is now doing his best to dismantle one of Missouri's greatest assets: the Katy trail.
It seems our great governor doesn't want to deal with a historic bridge that is to become part of the Katy trail. Instead, he wants to give it away to a company so they can sell it for scrap. Yup, they'll make money off of it and we'll give it away for free.
"A top official at the Missouri Department of Natural Resources has resigned over a move by Gov. Matt Blunt that he says could threaten Katy Trail State Park, one of the country's largest rails-to-trails projects."
One bridge a threat? Well, yes, actually. Giving up this bridge creates a gap in the corridor. The delicate legal framework that allows that state to maintain the corridor would be upset, meaning adjacent property owners could sue for this land and close the trail forever.
Sign the petition to help save this bridge and the Katy trail.
It seems our great governor doesn't want to deal with a historic bridge that is to become part of the Katy trail. Instead, he wants to give it away to a company so they can sell it for scrap. Yup, they'll make money off of it and we'll give it away for free.
"A top official at the Missouri Department of Natural Resources has resigned over a move by Gov. Matt Blunt that he says could threaten Katy Trail State Park, one of the country's largest rails-to-trails projects."
One bridge a threat? Well, yes, actually. Giving up this bridge creates a gap in the corridor. The delicate legal framework that allows that state to maintain the corridor would be upset, meaning adjacent property owners could sue for this land and close the trail forever.
Sign the petition to help save this bridge and the Katy trail.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Up or down vote, continued
James Dobson joins the fray with this:
"Americans overwhelmingly (by 81 and 82 percent in two recent polls) agree that even if Senate Democrats disagree with a nominee, they should still allow an up-or-down vote on each one. Can the will of the people be any clearer?"
Yes, it sure can. The American people don't get it, James, and you know it.
..and holy crap, they have a website. Three guesses what the URL is...
http://upordownvote.com/
Up or down vote, up or down vote, up or down vote, up or down vote. Got it?
"Americans overwhelmingly (by 81 and 82 percent in two recent polls) agree that even if Senate Democrats disagree with a nominee, they should still allow an up-or-down vote on each one. Can the will of the people be any clearer?"
Yes, it sure can. The American people don't get it, James, and you know it.
..and holy crap, they have a website. Three guesses what the URL is...
http://upordownvote.com/
Up or down vote, up or down vote, up or down vote, up or down vote. Got it?
"Up-or-down Vote"
If you are exposed to any kind of news media, you've probably heard the phrase "up or down vote" about 10,000 times in the last few days. We Americans don't have the attention span to really know what is going on, so the Republicans have packaged this deceptive "up or down vote" soundbite for us. "Just let us vote," they say. "Those mean democrats are just keeping the Senate from working."
Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist shares his wisdom in an editorial to USA Today, again using the "up or down vote" morsel.
Last time I checked, the right to hold open debate is a Senate procedure as well, and one that has been used by both parties. I believe it is Strom Thurmond that holds the record for the longest filibuster speech.
The Republicans are now threatening to kill the filibuster because they are annoyed. They want the American public to think that the meanie Democrats are just being obstructionists. The Republicans just want to talk, you know. They want a good debate and then they'll take the result after that -- a result of good old Senate process!
"Our Constitution grants the Senate the power to confirm or reject the president's judicial nominees. In exercising this duty, the Senate has always followed a careful and deliberate process of examining the nominees through hearings, discussing their merits in committee, debating them in the full Senate and then coming to an up-or-down vote on the Senate floor. We investigate, we debate, and then we decide."
Riiiight. What our friend Billy Frist knows is that they'll go through the motions and the conclusion is already determined. The Democrats will probably raise points about controversial decisions and look for examples of judicial activism. The Republicans will then respond with "but she was a Sunday school teacher and did really, really well in law school." They'll repeat that stuff for awhile and then the vote will fall along party lines. So, if "up or down vote" is part of a fair, investigative process, why will the results fall along party lines?
Because "up or down vote" is a smokescreen, folks. They keep saying it as if that is really all they are asking for, but when they get it, they have a confirmation and they've circumvented the minority's only recourse.
Ahh... politics! As long as they keep saying "up or down vote" until they get their way, they shouldn't have any problems with the American public thinking about it.
EDIT: Out of curiousity, I googled for "'up or down vote'" to see just how on message all of the Republicans are. Never missing a beat, it seems, they've got their little soundbite mastered. In the process, I found another blog post that had the same analysis as I did, except they have a lot more spare time on their hands.
Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist shares his wisdom in an editorial to USA Today, again using the "up or down vote" morsel.
Last time I checked, the right to hold open debate is a Senate procedure as well, and one that has been used by both parties. I believe it is Strom Thurmond that holds the record for the longest filibuster speech.
The Republicans are now threatening to kill the filibuster because they are annoyed. They want the American public to think that the meanie Democrats are just being obstructionists. The Republicans just want to talk, you know. They want a good debate and then they'll take the result after that -- a result of good old Senate process!
"Our Constitution grants the Senate the power to confirm or reject the president's judicial nominees. In exercising this duty, the Senate has always followed a careful and deliberate process of examining the nominees through hearings, discussing their merits in committee, debating them in the full Senate and then coming to an up-or-down vote on the Senate floor. We investigate, we debate, and then we decide."
Riiiight. What our friend Billy Frist knows is that they'll go through the motions and the conclusion is already determined. The Democrats will probably raise points about controversial decisions and look for examples of judicial activism. The Republicans will then respond with "but she was a Sunday school teacher and did really, really well in law school." They'll repeat that stuff for awhile and then the vote will fall along party lines. So, if "up or down vote" is part of a fair, investigative process, why will the results fall along party lines?
Because "up or down vote" is a smokescreen, folks. They keep saying it as if that is really all they are asking for, but when they get it, they have a confirmation and they've circumvented the minority's only recourse.
Ahh... politics! As long as they keep saying "up or down vote" until they get their way, they shouldn't have any problems with the American public thinking about it.
EDIT: Out of curiousity, I googled for "'up or down vote'" to see just how on message all of the Republicans are. Never missing a beat, it seems, they've got their little soundbite mastered. In the process, I found another blog post that had the same analysis as I did, except they have a lot more spare time on their hands.
What a joker!
The Star reports about a bank robber who dressed appropriately.
"The man triggered a 46-minute ordeal after he pulled a black hood over his head at 9:07 a.m. and walked into the Capitol Federal Savings branch at 151st Street and Mur-Len Road. He was wearing a black sweatshirt bearing the words 'SHOW ME THE MONEY.'"
So, did he have the shirt before the robbery was envisioned and it inspired him, or did he decide to rob a bank, call his friends and tell them he had to go shopping because he needed a new "robbery outfit".
You know how it is. You have a big robbery planned, you go through your closet and everything is so blah.
I wonder what he'll wear to trial.
"The man triggered a 46-minute ordeal after he pulled a black hood over his head at 9:07 a.m. and walked into the Capitol Federal Savings branch at 151st Street and Mur-Len Road. He was wearing a black sweatshirt bearing the words 'SHOW ME THE MONEY.'"
So, did he have the shirt before the robbery was envisioned and it inspired him, or did he decide to rob a bank, call his friends and tell them he had to go shopping because he needed a new "robbery outfit".
You know how it is. You have a big robbery planned, you go through your closet and everything is so blah.
I wonder what he'll wear to trial.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Voinovich is a pansy
It has been since "Time, Love and Tenderness" that we last dealt with a Bolton this vile. Bush's nomination to serve as ambassador to the UN, John Bolton, is headed to the Senate for a full vote, where even some Republicans think he really, really sucks.
Ohio Senator George Voinovich gets my nomination to be ambassador of the idealistically challenged, though. He calls Bolton "the poster child of what someone in the diplomatic corps should not be." He got that right.
Does that sound like a guy that would later vote to send this dude on to the full Senate for a vote? Well, you see, he got what I'm sure was a very cordial call from the President, which apparantly made him humble.
"I'm not so arrogant to think that I should impose my judgment on my colleagues. We owe it to the president to give Mr. Bolton an up or down vote on the floor of the United States Senate," Voinovich said.
Hey, Voinavich, imposing your opinion is your job! That is what the committee does.
"I have every faith in my colleagues," Voinovich said. "No one's really excited about him going to the United Nations."
If that is the case, why waste our time with the full vote? You bailed, man. I hope the President sends you a Christmas card this year. You earned it.
Ohio Senator George Voinovich gets my nomination to be ambassador of the idealistically challenged, though. He calls Bolton "the poster child of what someone in the diplomatic corps should not be." He got that right.
Does that sound like a guy that would later vote to send this dude on to the full Senate for a vote? Well, you see, he got what I'm sure was a very cordial call from the President, which apparantly made him humble.
"I'm not so arrogant to think that I should impose my judgment on my colleagues. We owe it to the president to give Mr. Bolton an up or down vote on the floor of the United States Senate," Voinovich said.
Hey, Voinavich, imposing your opinion is your job! That is what the committee does.
"I have every faith in my colleagues," Voinovich said. "No one's really excited about him going to the United Nations."
If that is the case, why waste our time with the full vote? You bailed, man. I hope the President sends you a Christmas card this year. You earned it.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Anarchist Soccer
Well, I wouldn't call myself an anarchist, but Anarchist Soccer sure sounds like fun. A bunch of radicals get together and play soccer in the park. No touch line, no scorekeeping, goals are made of bikes or bags or something. Sounds like a great way to spend a Sunday evening. I wonder if they'd welcome a poser like me?
831st Annual Tour de Cowtown
Now that was good times.
On Saturday, urban core bicycle shop Acme Bicycle Company hosted the 831st Annual Tour de Cowtown
This bike shop promotes grassroots cycling advocacy, bikes for transportation, vintage bicycles, handbuilt frames, fixies and riding in the city. Basically, everything that is right with the world. Their event was an interesting mix of all types of people and all kinds of bikes, some goofier than others. The scavenger hunt sent us all over town in search of trivia answers, take out menus, hotel matchbooks and road construction cones, among other things.
This shop is the real deal. A little rough around the edges and a bit gritty, yeah, but awesome. Despite feeling slow and under the weather, I had a blast at their event.
For more:
Vlad was there
Travis gives his account and Travis shares his pictures, including this one of me looking like a little child with messy hair excited about a new toy, which, in this case, was Todd Posson's chopper.
On Saturday, urban core bicycle shop Acme Bicycle Company hosted the 831st Annual Tour de Cowtown
This bike shop promotes grassroots cycling advocacy, bikes for transportation, vintage bicycles, handbuilt frames, fixies and riding in the city. Basically, everything that is right with the world. Their event was an interesting mix of all types of people and all kinds of bikes, some goofier than others. The scavenger hunt sent us all over town in search of trivia answers, take out menus, hotel matchbooks and road construction cones, among other things.
This shop is the real deal. A little rough around the edges and a bit gritty, yeah, but awesome. Despite feeling slow and under the weather, I had a blast at their event.
For more:
Vlad was there
Travis gives his account and Travis shares his pictures, including this one of me looking like a little child with messy hair excited about a new toy, which, in this case, was Todd Posson's chopper.
Z is for Lezlie Zavagnin
Well, well. A girl that a good friend of mine once characterized as my soulmate is getting some press for her efforts to support the Wizards and keep them in KC. These are a fun bunch of soccer hooligans and the Wizards are lucky to count them as supporters.
Go Lezlie and Kelsey!
By the way, it turns out she wasn't my soulmate after all.
Go Lezlie and Kelsey!
By the way, it turns out she wasn't my soulmate after all.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
The real deal
For the first time in my life, I have a full cycling team kit. I remember when I first started racing, I didn't even own a jersey. I was awed by all of the strong cyclists with their fancy bikes and their matching attire. I wondered what it would take to be on a team like that. Last year I joined a team, but a real team kit never came to be.
This weekend, I'll be racing while flying my team colors for the first time ever. It is silly, but I'm excited.
This weekend, I'll be racing while flying my team colors for the first time ever. It is silly, but I'm excited.
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
CommuterDude rode them Rockies, yo.
Keith Gates, Sprint employee and dedicated bicycle commuter, maintains this site with tons of commuting tips and ultra-mileage stories that will make even the most dedicated cyclist feel like a slacker. While cruising the site today, I found his record of the 2002 Ride the Rockies and it sounds intense. Come June, I'm taking a shot at the 2005 version, which should test my legs, my lungs and my courage.
Maybe it would have been better to take up needlepoint or something.
Maybe it would have been better to take up needlepoint or something.
Legs of buttah
Well, I'm not sure what is up with me, but I'm hurting. My legs just don't want to go. I pushed through my commute this morning having to shake out my legs several times. We're talking 12 measely little miles here. I felt the same way yesterday. Hopefully another day of riding and some soccer tonight will wake them up so they are ready for racing this weekend.
Perhaps it was my weekend off that did them in. It was worth it, though, as my family came to visit and I got to play urban tour guide for my aunt and uncle who have never been here. It is always fun to spend time with family in the city and show off KC. Maybe it didn't help that I loaded up on all kinds of food this weekend without giving any thought to nutrition or actually working for it.
New rule: no matter what the circumstances, I need to ride for at least 45 minutes every day just to keep my legs awake. That shouldn't be too hard.
Okay, time for all-you-can-eat food from around the world at Sprint, in the name of diversity!
Perhaps it was my weekend off that did them in. It was worth it, though, as my family came to visit and I got to play urban tour guide for my aunt and uncle who have never been here. It is always fun to spend time with family in the city and show off KC. Maybe it didn't help that I loaded up on all kinds of food this weekend without giving any thought to nutrition or actually working for it.
New rule: no matter what the circumstances, I need to ride for at least 45 minutes every day just to keep my legs awake. That shouldn't be too hard.
Okay, time for all-you-can-eat food from around the world at Sprint, in the name of diversity!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
