pugh and noobz

I think of the ocean and the way the moon swoons her to come and go. The pull of gravity never fails. Expectations shape things, shape her, the sea, and the heart.

It’s been a while since I’ve written. The above paragraph was something I drafted months ago and forgot about, stumbled upon it and decided to share, and then decided to write more, although I’m not sure what about.

As tradition would have it, Nubis is to my right sleeping, breathing loudly with those old lungs. I am waiting for Kurt to come home from tutoring. Part of me wants to start a movie, while the other part demands production that I haven’t the energy for.

Internal moon.

Today was a good day

Yesterday’s ride was a punch. The ride itself would have wound my body up a little on its own, I’m sure, and the tumble that I took on icy pavement that slammed me hard on my left side made sure that I’d remember how gravity works. So Saturday, you were a decent day, but Sunday, you’re doing me pretty damn good.

Nico and I drove out to Agate Beach this morning, dogs in tow. I should note now that being with Nico, whether it be drinking a beer in her kitchen or walking the dogs around the neighborhood together, is always an adventure. On our way there, she explained to me the etymology of the word “imagination” and “karma” and “magician”. We shared a small dose of road rage together while a very slow van chugged up Highway 1 and wouldn’t pull off to let the parade of cars pass. All I knew of Agate Beach was that it was just north of Bolinas, so we passed Bolinas and turned into a few of the smaller streets, until we turned into the parking lot that was at the head of a trail that lead down to the beach.

Agate Beach is a different kind of beach. Nico noted, “people go to Stinson to be around people and people come here to get away from them.” There are big slabs of rock on the ground, covered by little pebbles and sand. The surface soon becomes more sand down the way and there’s a nook that we decided to roost in. The sun was a good sport, hot and bright. Nico took her dog down to the water to explore a little while I stayed back at our spot. I took off my shirt and shoes and pants and laid down in the sand. Almost forgot how good it feels to be with the earth like that. Don’t get many chances around here, where winds whip sand around and there’s usually a nip in the air. Glorious.

And almost forgot how good it feels to be alone like that. I love being alone in nature. There’s a balance of feeling secure and also not knowing, giving in and letting go of what I have control over. Chances are good something won’t attack me while I’m out in nature, unless it is nature itself.

That’s really about it. We drove back, stopped at the market to get bread and cheese and salami to make sandwiches, drove along Highway 1 and watched the Pacific sparkle, got back home, said our goodbyes. Got inside and filled out paperwork for massage school, showered, ate dinner, and had a conversation with Janet (from Alaska) on the phone. 8pm and feeling done. Guess that means it’s bedtime.

Loretta Lynn

That sweet and shaky voice comes from the small record player in the front of my room. I look at the album cover, which is a picture of Loretta with her right hand in a gentle fist falsely propping her head up, and think back to the conversation I had with Cathy a few years back and I’m thinking that little Loretta was a mom when this photo was taken. If memory serves right, she had her first kid at the age of 15

Feels like I should write about the week I was in Nicaragua but it doesn’t seem as revelational as one may think. First time out of North America with two girl friends and I find myself remembering how much I wanted to be alone during the whole thing. The ocean was quite playful and beautiful, a flirtatious side of the Pacific I hadn’t really had the chance to see from San Francisco. She pushed her waves into me and I pushed back, smiling, giddy, joyful, content. She had a slight undertow that pulled at my ankles as her sand made way for my feet and the weight of my body. She knows me and I know the unpredictable her. She’s a giver and a taker, a nurturer and a taker. She’s swallowed many souls.

After the food poisoning incident a few nights ago, I should ease up on eating this barley and beef soup, but I’m so goddamn hungry and thinking fuck it. The risk is worth it. Tired of feeling tired and tired of feeling weak and hollow.

Sitting on the bed of the hotel room, I listen to the message my mom left. Her tone is unfamiliar but there’s a sense of urgency and emergency there. She had also texted me: “Call me when you have a few minutes and can talk. ASAP”

I call her. Phone rings a few times. She answers hurriedly and I ask what’s up. She’s getting out of the car and spills half a coke on her and mentions this.

She tells me Steve has called. Now her voice is fragile. It’s crumpling. It’s breaking. She says something like, “I guess you know what I’m going to say next…” and I ask for the words I’ve already heard in my head.

Her voice falls as she tells me, “your dad died yesterday…”

She’s giving way to her emotions and I’m giving way to mine. Breath is trying to catch itself but I’m caving in, allowing whatever this surge is to encompass me. Tell her I’ll call her back.

Put the phone down next to me on the bed and cover my face. A lot is coming out, not hysterically, not uncontrollably, but there is a lot in there. Gary comes over and holds me. Hands are still around my face and I’m processing what this means and finding no immediate answer.

I make note that I had been waiting for this day for years. I had been curious what my reaction would be and am a little surprised and how hard it hits. For me, I’d been internally debating whether or not to call my dad and had mentioned this to a few friends recently. I had written him before I left for California about six years ago and never heard from him. I gave a family friend my phone number almost two years ago and said, “when you talk with my dad again on the phone, give him my number. Let him know he can call me if he wants, and if he doesn’t, that’s okay too.” I never got a call. This didn’t disappoint me but there was still something inside of me that wanted to know what he was because I never really knew.

I call my mom back after I clean up. She tells me that I have to call Steve (dad’s brother) and give him consent to handle the funeral. My brother, sister, and I are the next of kin but we have no clue what to do now. I haven’t asked and hadn’t really thought about it but if we were to have gotten a call from a hospital with the news of our father’s death, I don’t know what the hell we’d do. We’re so detached from his life. But Steve is there and is handling everything, so I agree to call him and tell my mom I would like to attend the funeral.

Now I’m wondering if I’ll be the only one at the funeral with Uncle Steve. Will Kristina want to go? Maybe. I think mom will. But Cliff? In Afghanistan? He hated dad and I don’t blame him. We all have a lot of anger here. My dad would never take responsibility for the shit he did.

Ok, back to San Francisco. Get home after a few stops and call Steve. Get the full story about my dad’s pathetic and sad life after I last saw him. Vertigo. He had vertigo. Was hard for him to keep balance. Then his liver started failing and the ammonia levels in his blood would rise. It got to the point where he couldn’t answer the door and couldn’t pick himself up when he would fall, which he did often. Steve was taking care of him and finally convinced my dad to go to the hospital. Doctors said it was too late for anything and so they made him “comfortable”, which I think means they got him pretty sedated until he passed at 3:56am on July 17.

I think I’m okay. I’m okay for now. I’m ready to be with and live the emotions that are coming. The weight of all of this will hit sometime.

Got a text from mom that Cliff is coming. This makes me happy. I have never been more ready to see my family than I am now. We’ve been distant from each other almost our entire lives and have never talked about my dad. Nobody wants to open it. I do, I always have actually, but there’s resistance I’ve felt from Cliff and Kristina and maybe they’re about to give in. I could be wrong but this is a great opportunity to start building.

My friends are some of the best people in the world, so golden, genuine, sincere, loyal, respectful, accepting. Grateful for them always and especially now.

Four years ago tomorrow

“I think. I’ll have to check the milage in the morning —— there’s no way I’m getting up now. Heather is to my right, asleep and stoned. It’s almost one o’clock. I’m thinking up marriage proposals in my head. It’s a bad idea, but there we are. She turns to her left, away from the computer, away from me. It has been a completely fantastic day. I conjure likely futures of her as pilot and me as a field medic. Or something. Some life of it.

We soared through mountains today. I have no other word for it. We traced, nestled through textures of such a persistently maddening scale. Road, empty of traffic for miles in each direction, clear as a bell right down the crevasse. I’d ring that bell on occasion, joyous.

Wake up in Healy. Heather’s squeaky wheel is fixed now, we think. We stopped at a car parts shop, picked up a wrench (which we later learned was redundant - not that it isn’t a wrench worth keeping), and dropped a bunch of lubricant in there. The wheel is better, but Nubis isn’t. He’s still squeaking away in cheerful distress, agitated to the point of abrading a small part of his nose pink. We ride. It’s up a bit, but then it’s a lot of downs, nice and gradual.

I’m falling asleep. I’m stoned. I’m in the most incredible place at an incredible time. Life is good.”

-Matthew Andre Brown (July 2, 2008)

100 miles of road on the ground, 100 miles of roooaaad…

You pace one down, pass it around, 99 miles of road on the ground.

Spring Classics Numero Dos. Long day that turned into. After derailleur issues with Leah’s bike, she encouraged us to proceed on without her. That left me, Natalia, Fred, and Natalia’s friend, Keith.

All of us were feeling righteous at the beginning. I had told myself not to chew off too much but there was absolutely no wind on Highway 1 and the sun was out and it just felt right to plow the whole thing down. We made a train and I held the front for a while, hard to pull off because cars were shooting out from behind us, from behind the corners, and by the time I did settle to the back, the pace was faster than I had anticipated. I was digging into my reserves already. I asked my group to slow down a touch, something about “I can’t keep up this pace for the next 80 miles” and they agreed. Keith got in the front, which is rad because Keith is somewhere around 6’4”.

I would say that somewhere around mile 60 or 70, we were starting to lose it a little. The paceline was now a cluster of friends chatting. We had these rural roads to ourselves and it felt good to treat the day as a ride and not a race. We were way behind anyways due to the misfortune at the beginning (which had set us back 30-45 minutes), so we took in the day and beers and jokes and had our way with it. The heat opened up the the smells of the woods, the grass, the spring flowers. It was goddamn wonderful out there.

By the time we got to the finish, there were only maybe 15 people there. The first bus had just left and it was loaded with much more victorious, more faster riders. Who cares. I’m thankful to have the company of my teammates, for they are family to me.

And speaking of family, my sister’s planning on getting married at the end of July. 18 years old and getting married. Not sure why they can’t hold off for another year or so but it’s not my shot to call. Nervous about that. Was really hoping Kristina would get some experience and adventure under her belt before settling down in Texas with a guy she’s been dating long-distance for the past 3 years, but I guess that’s just the sinner in me talking. Fuck.

Now we’re thinking

These past few weeks flew by.

There was Alaska: homemade pizzas, hot springs with snow, fat biking through snow, massage, Mike’s Hard Lemonades, wine, hiking, playing with the snow mobile, shooting a .22, napping randomly, eating king crab legs for the first time, Tuaca.

There was Copperopolis: early wake-up, drive drive drive, get the Rainier and Bex to the race, see Chica Sexy teammates, drive to the feed zone, toss out bottles and encouraging words, wrap everything up, check in with MB guys and CS teammates, drive the Sprinter Van to lunch in Copperopolis (weird fake-old town), drive back to San Rafael, retrieve truck, drive back home. Fourteen hours total. So good to be at this race. Have wanted to get out there for a few years now.

Then Soil Saloon Sunday: must resist drinking as I must study later, power walk to bike, mount it, ride fast, hurts, burns, drink box wine quickly, drink a shot of whiskey right after, riding fast, still hurting, the wine and whiskey kick in, take another shot at the shot-cut, feeling better now, more loose, pushing the margins outward. Good to see everybody in the Soil Saloon group. Always good fun and ridiculous for everybody. Wanting more of them.

Took the chemistry test Monday: osmolarity, molarity, moles, determining pH, hypertonic or hypotonic, semipermeable membrane, balancing equations, constructing organic molecules, cycloheptane and cycloheptene and cycloheptyne and knowing the difference, litmus papers, buffer solutions, conjugate acid/base pairs. Felt confident on this one. We’ll get our tests back tomorrow. Trying to nab that A.

Summer is almost here. I think I have about 5 more weeks of school left. Chomping at the bit over here. Wanting to ride more and have less on my plate. It’ll come soon enough.

Couldn’t feel my feet for 7 hours.

The Spring Classic ride happened yesterday. The forecast predicted rain 100% and temperatures not past 55 degrees. I’d say a good 150 people showed up, suited in rain gear and sporting flimsy fenders on their bikes. We were ready.

The ride starts at about 9:10am with a neutral roll-out. We weave our way through San Francisco and then we’re off. I had no clue where we were going and trusted the people in front of me to lead the way accordingly. You knew you were on the right path as soon as you came up to a group at an intersection with a map pulled out. We’d confirm the route, mount up, and push forward. There was a climb on a slippery mountain side, mud made of clay, consistency of peanut butter, tires just spinning out but I got up the damn thing and then went down the damn thing. Going down it wasn’t incredibly difficult but that clay mud got stuck in my tires, brakes, everything. The thought of ripping my derailleur off got me off the bike. Tried clearing some it off with a stick, slowly jabbing it around the crevices around the brakes but it did no good. Ended up walking down and using a resident’s water hose at the bottom to get my bike back in working order.

Planet of the Apes was next. A good slow uphill with a group of about 10, then down the broken pavement, some more mud shit, some sand, some gravel. I went down with joy. The road spit us out onto Highway 1, merely 5-10 minutes from the first checkpoint.

My feet are long-gone by now. Hands still work but I know they’ll be shot by the end of this thing, too. We get to the checkpoint and I get the last bit of coffee, eat the eggy bagel I was supposed to eat before this damn ride, and realize that it’s a good thing I have this bagel because there is no food there (note: there was supposed to be food but the guys ahead of us ate all of it). Those that didn’t have food sank down a little, mounted back on their bikes, and headed out into more rain and wind and cold.

You could tell people wanted this thing to be over. It was a good challenge but we were all freezing and pushing hard to get to the end. We climbed up Stage Coach road, went down, up, down, up, down down to the next checkpoint. Mm, food. Lots of food. And coffee and sodas. This was the checkpoint where one had to decide to do the long route (100 miles with 10k feet climbing total) or the Express Route (85 miles with ~6k feet of climbing). After short debate internally and with some of the other people I had been riding with, we chose the short route. We wanted food and warm clothes too bad, and we knew taking the longer route meant even colder temps and steeper climbs. Again, mounted up, pushed on.

So that puts us back on Highway 1 for about 30 miles. Nice rolling hills and pace lines. Now, the fender thing; the rain made pacing people difficult. Those without fenders shot bits of rain and dirt up with every spin, and there were multiple times where I encountered this in my eyes and had to fall back. Even those with fenders still shot out a bit of that crap. One had to just put their head down and push.

The rain let up at the end, finally allowing us to get cozy on each others wheels. There was the 4th checkpoint about 13 miles from the end, with more coffee and pb&j sandwiches. Standing around too long brought on the shivers. We were so so close to the finish.

And then there it was, about 35 minutes later, the last turn to the Ibis bike shop down in Santa Cruz. The two other riders I had been with for countless miles and I were relieved. There was food and bathrooms and dry clothes in that building. I was shaking. I could barely move my fingers in order to take my shoes and clothes off. So happy to be done.

Apparently, about 10 people completed the 100 mile route (including Barry Wicks). There were two other groups that attempted it but the freezing temperatures and worn-to-shit brake pads (no stopping) got people to hole-up in a country club out in the middle of nowhere with hot toddies and french fries and a fire place.

There’s another one of these Spring Classic rides in April and I’m excited to tackle it. Rain or no rain, I’ll be there again, clawing my way to the finish line with a hunger for miles and climbing.

I’ll make note of one last thing here; my body this morning feels like shit. Back and neck and legs hurt. Drained. In a fuzz. I woke up at about 6:30am and couldn’t go back to sleep because I felt almost ill. Got to get laundry done and work the ALC Expo from 10-4 today before I head off to Alaska tomorrow. Going to be an interesting day.

“A” is for Alaska

Time passed quick. I swear this month, this March, just started and it’s close to being finished out. We always wonder where it goes, where it went, what’s next. Alaska is next for me. Thick snow. Janet has made reservations at the hot springs. She has also made a reservation for me to get a massage. Holy fucking shit, amen.

The Spring Classic is this Saturday and I’m wondering what’s going to happen. People will show up and sign-in and chat about new bike crap, yes, but the weather is supposed to be miserable. Rain, wind, cold. I don’t have a rain jacket, pants, booties, gloves. I DON’T HAVE GLOVES. Hey, I’ve been looking for gloves and haven’t found the perfect pair. Same goes for the rain gear. Maybe I’ll wear a plastic poncho. That’ll pack down easy, right? Probably too flappity flap in the wind when I’m shredding the descents. It’d probably suffocate me. Scratch the poncho.

I think I’ll do it. I can put in the 100 miles and the 10k feet of elevation to just get that shit done. Haven’t done any riding down there (South) either, so that’ll be a nice change. And I’ll have company. I pray they aren’t annoying.

Spring Break! Man, Spring Break. How about that. I feel a huge relief in my head now, like I can sleep and sleep and get back to friends. Spare time is reality, just for a while now, but for longer when the semester is over. Happy for the challenges I’ve put before me. Pining for rest and focus on one task. Too many burners going.