Changing Phones

Ah, progress...

I said goodbye to my faithful, reliable, antique cell phone last weekend.  

It’s apparently an antique because it’s four years old. It was a hand-me-down from Mrs. C who upgraded a while ago.

I loved that old phone. None of that data plan/wi-fi stuff with this baby, no sir. By current standards, this was your basic no-frills telephone. Period. But it did have some very special features which I appreciated.

It was a survivor.  After two cycles through the washing machine, most of the buttons still worked most of the time.

It was a smart phone in its own way.  It would instinctively turn itself off with no warning, so I wouldn’t have to be bothered by those pesky phone calls coming in.

It was sensitive. The ringer and vibrate functions were so faint most of the time, it would rarely interrupt what you were doing at the office to let you know your wife needs you to pick your daughter up from school.

It waited patiently for me at a movie theater lost and found for over a week, until I figured out where I’d lost it.  Golly, anybody could have taken it during that time, but for some reason they never did...hmmm....

It went on lots of bike rides with me and would get all sweaty in my pocket.  That’s how loyal this phone was.

Yes sir, my antique phone was sort of like an old labrador who sits at your feet by the fireplace every evening.

Clearly we were bonded, so why the switch? Well, you know the story: had to change phone carriers, get us all onto the same plan, blah blah etc etc. Modern progress.

My family took me to the phone store and convinced me it was time to enter the 21st century. They showed me what an iPhone could do and I have to admit, they’re pretty versatile little machines. There are these buttons on the screen that aren’t really buttons at all, and they open up entire new worlds on the display. Email, calendar, camera, weather, maps, internet, youtube....then they’d drag an entirely new screen into view.  More buttons!  Games of all kinds, like the one they like called “Angry Birds.”

Long story short, I’m now sporting a shiny new iphone, looking hip and groovy like everybody else. My family and co-workers are now giving me crash courses on “apps” I can download to make my life better.  Now, I’m supposed to talk to my phone and it will do an internet search for me; there’s an app for that.  If I need daily inspiration there’s an app for that. I’m not supposed to actually look for coffee shops...theres an app for that. Movie tonight? There’s an app. Oh, you meant a movie at home? Redbox has an app for that. There are even apps to help manage your apps.  Who knew I needed one of those. I’m told there’s an app for everything, to make my life better.

I’ve accepted my new situation, and I’m done grieving the separation with my antique cell phone. But change takes its toll on a person. I’m sort of dizzy from all the screens and buttons and apps that are syncing up my life. My brain is full and it can’t take any more input right now.  

It’s all so tiring.

Thankfully, there’s a nap for that.

Riding With A Friend

Pablo and his new bike are rippin' up the asphalt these days. Between commuting and riding for pleasure, they get lots of miles in every week and it shows. Sunday afternoon we took a spin through the countryside from Champoeg to Willamette Mission State Park, using the Willamette Valley Scenic Bikeway to get us on our way.


If you haven't tried this route yet, add it to your "summer bucket list." Miles and miles of seldom-used roads that wind through local agriculture, with sweeping views across the valley to the mountain ranges east and west. The predominantly flat profile of this route makes it quite accessible.


Even on a weekend, traffic was pretty sparse. We could ride two abreast and catch up on the usual stuff: kids, spouses, work, riding. For the record, Pablo's puns exceeded mine in number as well as groan factor. Vegetable puns are hard to beet.

Oregon's Tallest Black Cottonwood. Gezundheit!

We rolled through Willamette Mission State Park as our turn-around point. I realized that my allergies and asthma were basically non-existent, despite all the mown grass, horses, and cottonwood around us. I offered up a prayer of thanks for modern medicine. Just a few minutes later, a sign pointed us to the state's tallest black cottonwood tree. There it stood on the edge of the river, a dubious-looking symbol of allergies for folks in the valley.  


We stopped for a photo op, ambled a bit longer through the park, drank our water, and then the ride suddenly and inexplicably changed. Without so much as a word, we both elevated our pedaling cadence, found optimum gears, and hammered the entire way back. Trading the lead, using each other's draft, we flew. You don't need words in order to make agreements about who leads. You just know when it's time to charge ahead, and when to relinquish the lead to your buddy. 


This is something you don't get to experience when you ride solo, or with novice riders. Drafting has some inherent danger. You have to keep tabs on each other's position and make sure not to let wheels get too close. Once you figure it out though, it's a great way to increase your speed. The scenery rolled by much faster, and before we knew it, we finished the 20+ miles back to Champoeg.


A fresh strawberry milkshake is just the thing after a long ride. For the record, I finished mine first, but Pablo was drafting close behind. 


Next time, he'll take the lead I'm sure.

Practicing Hospitality

This message came into the inbox yesterday from "Heidi," a wonderful and talented former student of mine who is seeking a little advice as she opens her home to visiting cyclists coming through her town.

Dear Ride Bikes, Drink Coffee:

This summer I have opened my home to touring cyclists via the WarmShowers.org website. I've hosted a few people, but none specifically through that service just yet. At the moment, I am hosting two "friends" passing through on their cross-continent bike tour. Because my guest room only has a twin bed, I have switched bedrooms so they could sleep in a bed, based on advice my delightful, patience-of-a-saint high school choir teacher gave when we were doing home stays so many years ago. This clearly impressed one of my coworkers when I mentioned it to her, but apparently my going-the-extra-mile has not meant much to my guests.

This is the second time I've hosted them, and both times they have descended on me as if they owned the place. Every conceivable flat surface has their belongings strewn about (pretty impressive considering they're living out of panniers!). Books get taken out of bookshelves and then not put back. The two stacks of paper I have (which are organized) are fair game to their curious fingers. The main offender has ADD, and claims that having everything out where she can see it is essential for her to find things. Since there are two of them and only one of me, and I am not used to a living situation with more than just me, I've been trying my best to grin and bear it for the few days that they are here.

The last time they visited me, in the fall (when I was living in another city), a friend suggested that I do what I need to do to get through their visit without choking them. (What that meant was that I didn't spend a lot of time with my guests.) This time, they never actually *asked* if they could stay with me, it was just kind of assumed until they emailed me with their arrival date. They've now been here less than 24 hours, but I'm already feeling like I need to just keep to myself in order to avoid lashing out.

Do you have any advice? It seems like all the articles online about how to be a good houseguest specifically note that treating your host's house like a hotel is frowned upon, and keeping things tidy is the hallmark of a desirable guest. Do I continue emulating my dear high school choir teacher and putting their needs before mine? Can I say no if they ask to stay with me in the future, and not damage the "friendship?"

Sincerely,

"Heidi Anspacher"

Dear HA:

Your former choir teacher is feeling awfully proud of you for practicing hospitality, and for reaching out to the cycling community!

Don’t let two riders sour your experience as a host. You will encounter every kind of guest, and most of them will be wonderful. This pair is not representative of most of the people you’re likely to meet! It's a good early opportunity to learn from their visit inside your home, however, and take what you’ve learned and apply it to your way of hosting others.  In a way, this is a “teachable moment” for the parameters you would like to set. It might also inform how to re-organize your space a little differently so there’s your space and their space. Think about how you will set the tone for your home when people stay: As you greet your visitors, what will you say to them so they clearly understand the norms and expectations at the HA home. If people are going to stay with you, it can’t end up costing you the headaches, frustration, time, etc.

I’d suggest you muster up the courage to confront the situation with your current guests if they're still there. Once they’re gone and you look back on their visit, you’ll be glad you did.  My bet is they’ll either become better guests, or they won’t darken your door again.  Either way you win.

Perhaps saying something like, “I’m really interested in opening my home when other cyclists come through, and I’m realizing that I’ll need to be more clear with them than I’ve been with you about what means.” Then you go about describing what area of your home you've set aside for them to use, and which things in your home are off limits to them. ADD does not give one permission to impose their messiness on you during a homestay.

Clearly, your current guests don’t have much experience practicing gracious visitation, and that’s too bad. They’re missing out on the better parts of the whole experience of sharing space and making friends along the journey.  Granted, long-haul cyclists spend countless hours on the sides of the road, where road debris, dead animals, and the flotsam and jetsam of vehicle traffic all tend to collect. They’re used to things being a bit messy. But that in no way gives them the right to leave their manners behind when somebody opens their home to them.


All the best to you, HA!

Punsday

I have found that bike rides with friends are perfect for pun sharing. Occasionally you have to lighten the conversation with your riding partner. You know, interrupt the talk about substantive things, and just bust out a pun. Feel free to add this little gem to your repertoire. My dad shared it with me, now I'm paying it forward.

An avalanche brought two large rocks together in a ravine.  So close that they were touching. Both rocks were painfully shy, and mortified at the thought of initiating a conversation with the other one. It took centuries before they could even acknowledge each other’s presence. But there was a special attraction between the two. Each one waited desperately for the other to say something, and so it went for a very, very long time.

When one rock finally gathered up the courage to say something, they started to converse together. A wonderful relationship ensued and they became a couple.  Now, blissfully happy, their only regret was looking back on all the lost years they could have enjoyed, if only they had not succumbed to their shyness for so long.

Soon it became apparent to the two rocks that a little one was on the way! The shy couple prayed that their baby would be a little boulder.

:)

Learn As You Go

First Anniversary-1984

You learn things being attached to the same person for many years. As Mrs. C and I celebrated our 28th anniversary Saturday, I pondered some of the things I have learned over the years:

In our earliest years together, I learned not to say dumb things, like: “That’s not how my mom mixes the orange juice.” 

Another dumb thing you don’t do as a newlywed is say, “I love you," and then call her by the wrong name...yeah, that was not good.

Later, I learned to become handy around the house...unfortunately that still didn’t mean I had any common sense. For instance, assembling the crib for your firstborn is really special, but you should always do so in the nursery, not the living room. That way you don’t have to take the whole thing apart and start all over to make it fit through the nursery doorway.  Mmm hmm.

Twenty-eighth Anniversary-2011

Over the course of our marriage, I did get a little smarter. I'd look at her calendar to see when she had a hair appointment. That way, I could compliment her new look when she walked through the door, even if I wasn't sure exactly what the hairdresser did. That strategy worked, at least until that time her appointment fell through. That experience taught me not to compliment a new hairstyle if there’s nothing new about it. Oops.

The list could go on and on. I’ve amassed so many of these stories, it sort of makes me wonder why she’s kept me around for so long. I could have been set out with the recycling a long time ago.

Well, whatever it is, I’m grateful that she still laughs at my dumb jokes, and that we like doing things with and for each other, and that she still has the grace to see beyond all my faults.

And how cool that she’s riding again! We had a great time together on the Willamette Valley Scenic Bikeway. Quiet country roads, cool dry weather. Okay, the flat tire wasn’t so great, but it wasn’t all that big a deal, either.

Having an anniversary and a Father’s Day on the same weekend is pretty special.  It gives me a chance to say how much I appreciate our kids and my dad. 

I’m at that point in my life when I have those “out of body experiences” where it startles me when I hear myself say things to my kids, and I sound just like my dad.

And that proves that indeed, I have learned a thing or two.

Sun-day on Saturday

At last...our long-awaited burst of sunshine! A real honest-to-goodness 80+ degree day, and Oregonians were out there, pale and squinting hard in the unfamiliar glare of the sun, determined to be outside and enjoy this rarity.  Cyclists were certainly out in force...there were some organized rides going on today, but many of us just went out on our own solo rides.

Sometimes it’s nice to just go out on a ride and see where it takes you.  If it’s hard to make up your mind--country roads or city streets, hills or flat, east or west--it’s fun to be a little spontaneous and just let the bike take you wherever.  That was how today’s ride unfolded for me. It was sort of a smorgasbord of everything.

What a difference a sunny day makes when you’ve not had one in months. It felt good to climb hills in the heat of the sun and feel my body's temperature rise. It’s not the same as climbing on cold days. I could feel the rays of the sun reach all the way down to the pavement and bounce back up, too. Even the strong headwind coming down the flat open stretches was warm, somehow making the effort to go fast more enjoyable. 

There were some nice sights along today’s ride, too. Sunshine just spruces things up anyway, but it definitely causes you to notice more things. The mountains are finally visible again, completely white from heavy spring snows, which are already creating huge runoffs and near-flood conditions in the valley. 

And tucked in alongside the industrial park area in Southeast Salem, I realized that I’ve been ignoring a very nice wetlands area.  Duh.

Welcome back, sunshine. Stick around awhile, would you, please?!

Punsday

Got a coffee date coming up?  Riding bikes with a friend this weekend? No worries...I've got yet another pun for you to share.

Mr. Potato Head didn't become a celebrity by accident. His parents had it all planned from the very beginning.  The best schools, the most prestigious clubs, lots of planned media attention, his own cable tv show, the works.  Well, as Mr. Potato Head grew up, his parents grew more anxious. Who would he choose to marry?  Would she meet their high expectations?  Would she be able to become the kind of celebrity that he was destined to be?  They lost many nights of sleep wondering.  Waiting.  Hoping.


One day, young Mr. Potato Head returned from college with great news.  He'd met somebody, and had proposed her on the spot!  The parents were so excited, just sure that he had found a movie star, or a well-heeled socialite. Expecting to hear great news, they asked who she was.


A smile came across his face as he told them her name, "Katie Couric!"


His parents were stunned.


His father finally broke the silence.


"I'm sorry son, but you simply cannot marry Katie Couric.  She's just a common tater."


Pa-dum-pump.