Tagged with bicycle

feeling like a real cyclist again

I’ve gotten to the zone where I can bike up the bad hill (with a bit of a breather break 3/4 of the way up) even in the rain. It wasn’t pouring today, so it was infinitely nicer out than last week with all the snow and slush (which I didn’t bike through). It’s starting to feel normal to bike, not like some thing I have to psyche myself up for, even on a mildly rainy day.

My rain pants (which I’ll bring the next time I go to New Zealand for tramping so as not to get made fun of) do keep a lot of heat in though, so whatever pants I wear under them are not soaked from rain just damp from sweat. I might have to leave some pants here and change my (below rain gear) cycling wardrobe.

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every prophet in her house

On a boat bobbing we listened to a man talk about the historical significance of all sorts of things around Sydney Harbour. We made fun of some of his inflections (and his accent as us who talk American instead of Australian sometimes do) at he stressed the “really interesting” and “controversial” things he was showing off about the harbour, but he was a pretty good tour guide. We spent the first half of the trip outside on the bow where his voice was a bit more of a background murmur you had to pay attention to hear, which was about perfect. You didn’t feel like you were interrupting if you wanted to talk about something but new information was steadily going on in the background. We learned about Shark Island, which used to be an animal quarantine station, and about the gallows where the colony’s first murderer was hung in a cage for weeks covered in tar, and about how they shipped all the animals to the Taronga Zoo on barges because the former zoo had been in Sydney and the new one

Interestingly, there was barely any mention of any aboriginal history. That’s interesting because places here tend to make more acknowledgement of the traditional lands events happen on. Yes, it’s just lip service and doesn’t change any poor treatment, but now I miss it when someone doesn’t at least make the ritual pronouncement.

We also went to see some contemporary art at a free gallery, which I really enjoyed and had a pancake lunch which I enjoyed at the time but my guts decided to make me regret afterwards. We also met a woman who was selling some sort of medicinal goop and jewellery made from broken plates, and heard her speak at length about different schools of Buddhism (I was wearing my prayer beads but quickly tried to make it clear I’m not actually Buddhist). Holly and I were ready for me to get reprimanded for wearing symbols I didn’t understand, but she didn’t seem too frustrated with us. She kept on making references to toking up in the 60s and decided Holly was a child of those days in spirit.

We also spent some time listening to a pretty excellent busker, Mark Wilkinson. Holly’d heard him while we were talking to the Buddhist woman and wanted to find him and sit and listen. Sadly, there weren’t any free tables at the cafes right there, so we sat on planters to listen. He did an excellent version of Hallelujah but his songs were also good. We got EPs.

I always forget when I’ve been off a bicycle for a while how much I love the bicycle as a transportation method. We rode to Circular Quay through the CBD and even though I cursed at Javier’s bike when it slipped gears on me (oh for my bicycle in its storage locker back in Vancouver) I loved being on a bicycle again. I know Vancouver January biking won’t be this pleasant, but I’m looking forward to it. This morning we were talking about long-distance biking and I would like to do that someday. Do a real trip on a bicycle. Probably not over the rockies, I’m not that hardcore, but maybe heading down the coast a ways would work. I don’t know if my bike would be the best choice, being an urban single-speed, but someday I want to do that.

And the day began with reading Murakami (*contented sigh*) and blueberry muffins. Holly makes them in torn-in-half diet coke cans, because we don’t have muffin tins and because she is awesome and resourceful.

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gallivanting on train and bike

On Saturday I got to go on an adventure. Holly needs a bike to get to work. It’s a half-hour walk that’s really crappy at the end of a twelve-hour day running around a kitchen lifting 20kilos of butter at a time, smashing your fingers under said butter and getting yelled at/needing to dodge the occasional cupcake being thrown by the chef. (I’m leaving out the story about the panicky bike-borrowing that happened this week, because I’m not sure if she’s got it in her queue of blog posts.)

So she went on Gumtree and found a used bike for a decent price. You can get a new bike from KMart for less, but she wanted a bike that was actually going to be good to ride, that was light and fast. Having bought such a bike in Vancouver last fall, I know what she means.

Anyway, this bike was out in Woolooware, across Botany Bay from where we live (yes, that Botany Bay), so I took a couple hours from my Saturday to take the train out there. I like how these suburban trains work here. If you live in a little town like Woolooware you’re still only half an hour from downtown Sydney. I don’t know if that’s what it’s like on the Go Train in Toronto, but this feels even more extensive than Vancouver’s Skytrain network.

I got to Woolooware and phoned the guy to get directions through the town to his house. Now, we have trouble with Australian accents, Holly and I. I especially find it difficult when it comes to names, since you can’t necessarily just figure it out from the context when there’s a word you don’t get. Case in point: Woolooware is down the Illawara Line though Holly’s best guess was Yellow Wire. We just looked at a map until we could piece something sensible together and happily it worked. For getting to the guy’s house I knew his street had a F in the middle and vowel sounds on either side. Maybe an R in there somewhere. It took a bit of getting lost but eventually I made it to Alfred street and went “That makes sense!”

I brought the bike back to Central Station on the train and then rode it home from there. My first time riding on the left hand side of the street. I remembered to be in the left lane, but I kept on trying to hug the right hand side of it. It was a little hard on my nerves but I got the bike home safely, and missed my bike back in Van City (but not that hill up to UBC).

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and it was raining

On my bike-ride home from school today I saw: an old VW campervan next to an old VW bug at a stoplight and they were both the same shade of orange, a portly middle-manager looking fellow in khakis and a blue button-down shirt skateboarding up a hill, a couple of people riding tall custom-built leisure bicycles, and a woman wearing high heeled boots for biking. They were kind of awesome and I told her so. She said “They do the trick.”

Yesterday in class I had a great interaction. We’ve been introducing ourselves a lot this past week, and in the 8am class we did it again. “State your name and something about you.” At 8am I said “I’m Justin and I think Joss Whedon’s best work was on Astonishing X-Men.” Nerd talk, but fine. Going around the room we got to Corey, who is a big guy from Houston, who served in Afghanistan (I don’t know which branch of the military) and then got an MA and now is getting this degree. He says his bit, but tacks onto the end, “And Justin, Joss Whedon is overrated.” I’m mock outraged and we all laugh and life is good.

In the afternoon class, we’re doing basically the same thing, going around the room saying our names and what our undergrad was in and whatever. This time I’m near the end. Corey has already introduced himself before it gets to me. I say “I’m Justin and I have an anthropology degree and then I was inspired to go get a journalism degree by Transmetropolitan, the graphic novel by Warren Ellis. And if Corey,” I say, theatrically gesturing to his side of the room, “has a problem with Warren Ellis, we may have to step outside.” Everybody laughs. Someone asks, mock incredulously “Are we going to see a fight?” Everyone immediately puts their money on the big black man who’s been trained to kill people, and I’m mock-outraged and life is good.

In the class break I find Corey to talk comics (we agree that Neil Gaiman is a genius and that the way Whedon brought back Colossus might not have made complete sense) and another classmate tells me/us how freaked out our prof had looked as that exchange had happened, like he was going to have to break up a fight. So that was even more fun to know after the fact.

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stupid fuckin’ things

As you may have heard my bike was stolen. From the locker in the basement of my fucking building. The door was locked but the thief appears to have pulled the plywood door off the hinges, bypassing the lock all together. It was a good bike. I spent a pile of money on it however many years ago it was. Probably 10.

I’m not as mad about it as I feel I could be though. It’s just another thing to add to the list of why I made a horrible choice last year in buying a place of my own. It feels right and proper to be punished for my stupid fucking greed, for wanting to own a place to hold my books and cat. Remember how I didn’t like being congratulated for buying this place? Someday if I am ever able to sell it you can congratulate me then.

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i’ll need a bacta tank before i do this in real winter

If you pay attention to my Twitter feed, you’ll see I biked to work today. Last week Holly wrote a bit about biking on her blog. I commented and she commented back about me being nice about not rubbing Winnipeg-cold in her face. Allow me a moment of doing that now please. A winter storm warning continues for Winnipeg and the surrounding area today and I was all, “I said I’m biking this winter so I’m fucking well biking today.”

They do not call them good choices, these things I have made.

It’s only hovering around freezing, so the cold is not the problem. Getting to work, getting home, my waist up was toasty. Sweating from the effort a bit even. My legs were soaked through. It was worse coming home because there was more snow on the ground. I’d thought there wouldn’t be much accumulation when I left. Going to work at 4, the problem wasn’t the snow but the 50 gusting 70kmh headwind. When my weight was on my back tire because I’m fighting for every little bit of forward momentum the wind, which was just off from directly ahead, was blowing my front tire to the side, like I was sailing or something. It was hellish. I got to work and said “That is why I want a job I can walk to.”

Coming home, I had that wind at my back, which I needed because now there was maybe half an inch of snow on the sidewalk. I promised my coworkers and my mother I’d ride on the sidewalk, just in case I wiped out. The problem of course is that when you’re trailblazing through fresh snow, that’s when you wipe out. The whole way down Keewatin I was looking at the slightly snowy but mostly wet street from my wobbly slidey sidewalk. If I had been fighting the wind too I would have stopped and just cried. When i got the chance I took Logan and rode on the street where the cars had warmed things up so there was bare pavement, under all the puddles. But I had traction so hooray. And I was soaked within seconds. But it’s not that cold yet and the ride doesn’t take that long (only double m usual time today) so I wasn’t too worried about actual hypothermia. As I said, my torso was feeling fine. My gears were getting all gummed up with ice and I took it real easy the whole way. Which I wouldn’t have been able to do had I been facing that wind.

Anyway, it was a stupid thing to do. Tomorrow I’ll take the bus. Maybe for the rest of the winter. It felt good to do it once though. To have done it I guess. It was only about an hour of my day of horrible painful awfulness. It’s good to feel that once in a while. Under controlled circumstances like your own stupidity. I’m home and warm now.

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and grace too

On Tuesday I woke up knowing I had to be at work by 10am. From my bed I could see the sky and it was that low hanging kind of cloud. “Great,” I thought, “it must have rained all night. There will be puddles.” This was a concern because Tuesday was going to be my first time biking to work for reals. Puddles are a bit inconvenient especially when you’re riding old roads that are uneven enough to collect a lot of water (not like a nice freshly asphalted bikepath, say).

Then I got out of bed and saw it was still raining and I may have fallen to my knees gnashing my teeth. Why did this happen the first day I was going to ride my bike to work. It was all going to go so well, getting my legs and lungs all ready for hiking and shit in the forests and canyons of the Journey to the West. And I said “I guess I’ll take the bus.” I hung my head. Sad music played on the radio.

But! I realized what a slippery slope I was opening that can of worms on. If I just didn’t ride today because it was horribly wet, what happens the first day it’s windy? Or colder than I might like? What happens then? I’d then have a precedent for not biking and it would be much harder to drag my bike from the basement. No, I had to go on.

So I biked to work, quickly noticing I’ve never put fenders on my bike. So it didn’t take long to abandon myself to being soaked through. I had a change of clothes with me and by the end of my three hour shift everything but my feet had dried out so I could get all clad in my wet biking clothes to go home. I wonder if my runners will ever get dry.

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i don’t hate it here so much

This morning I biked down to SWS to see how long it would take. Twenty minutes there, twenty five back. There was only the slightest breeze so I figure this is a good baseline. I also took two different routes to see if it made a difference. I was also riding my bike in a single gear, trying to see if I should make the switch over. My gears haven’t been in the best shape lately and something simpler with less maintenance to neglect might be a good idea. In any case, climbing the Arlington Bridge with a single gear sucks. Logan to Keewatin and the gentle underpass there seems to be my friend.

I think this might have been my first cycling of the summer. But now I know how long it takes and I figure I’ll bike to work at least for the rest of August to get my endurance up for hiking around trees and canyons in September. And then maybe in September since I’ll get back too late for a bus pass to make any economic sense. I probably won’t bike the whole winter though. And if I do I’m getting a shitty bike to do it with.

One thing I’m glad I’ve been doing since returning to Winnipeg is making more of the city my home. I felt this biking around today. Before I had my interview at SWS I doubt I’d ever been down Keewatin before. Back in the day my city was fairly narrowly defined as the affluent southwest parts. Moving in with Alison has been great because the whole central downtown feels a lot more like mine now. It’s not some big production to go downtown, it’s a fifteen minute walk I do all the time. I like that. These places north of the trainyards are a big part of our city too. SWS is next to a Filipino cultural centre and all the real estate agent signs say stuff like “Find your home, with a Filipino touch!” (This must count as one of the Things White People Like, right?) And you can often forget about that diversity when you’re a Tuxedo, River Heights, Charleswood kind of kid.

I’m trying to get into this city. To be part of my hometown. I think stuff like biking walking and bussing makes a difference in that. It makes you feel a bit more connected. I was hoping to make the Arlington Bridge part of my commute because of its history the Poor Choices song, but I think my legs and lungs will thank me for going around it. Especially in winter.

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28a jiangyou

When we got off the train it was a bit earlier than scheduled, so we had a few minutes in the dark outside the train station before Todd showed up. There wasn’t anyone trying to take us anywhere which was nice, peaceful. We could idly guess if Todd was at the Jiu Dian or the Bing Guan. It turned out he was at the Bing Guan which wasn’t as seedy as it appeared at first glance. Even silhouetted in mercury vapour you could tell when Todd was coming. His height helps. And his ambling kind of walk. And his jacket. He arrived and we headed back to his room for chatting purposes.

We ranged over a host of subjects including Neil Gaiman and his time in China with Todd, what’s been happening on my travels and stories of library paging, which Todd did all through high school. Deb later revealed that she’d been a page too, as had Michelle and Phil Bender. Very strange but indicative of what a transitory job this can be. Good to know I guess.

After an hour and a half (the electronic chimes following the pattern of the bells at St. John’s college only began marking the hours at 7am) we got in a couple of cabs to head down to the college. Oh, right we picked up James & Michelle & Deb too. James is so easy for me to get along with, or at least be clever with, which may only be a substitute. Once here we met Darryl and had breakfast and sat. We talked cameras and stories were shared about whatever. “When spring comes the pretty girls come out,” said someone who was quoting their students. “Just add water,” someone else added. “And evening is when the pregnant women come out,” said another person. “Just add…” said I. Chuckles abounded.

It felt very natural hanging around here with these people. Lots like I’d never left. Holly said it’s taken her a few years for her to realize this is her family. Maybe she’s right. Maybe we needed this time this longer term. But that’s just a couple of friendships. I don’t know where I’m going with this. All this talk in the next room (Julie’s asking Catherine if the guys feel any connection between their personal lives and their Christian lives. Now she’s asking “Why have we allowed society to value what success is?) makes me worry I’m not done with the past that may not be done with me.

I met William this morning and though Holly tells me our theology is vastly different and I shouldn’t ask what he’s reading if I don’t want to get angry, I like him. He’s got this grinning laugh and joking manner I get along well with. He’s sort of a funnier Jared, or at least trying to be. And he’s got that Sean loudness to him to talk back to the starers and Nihaoers which I like. It makes me laugh which is all I really want. I feel like (theology aside) we could have been great friends if our CEE/MPC times had overlapped. Way more than me and Dan. This afternoon he was talking about his classes and what is good and what his troubles are and my brain just shuts off. Maybe it’s that he’s boring. I don’t quite know. We should be better friends. We have similar interests. But I suppose interests aren’t everything.

William led the bike tour of Jiangyou after much searching for bicycles. The place with the tandem and tridem bikes had already rented out their tallest ones. At another place “less than a mile” up the road we dug through the tarps and back rooms for suitable cycles. They weren’t as good as they could have been but they were worth the 1RMB ($0.17) I paid for the afternoon. We rode through muck and up roads through canola fields (small ones, dare I use the word agrarian?), William guiding us on the route he’d planned out the week before. I love Chinese bicycles in their gearlessness and knee-hurtingness. We can go slowly and not worry.

We curved by the coal power plant with its huge cooling towers (I was singing that song from the Simpsons power plant strike “And we’ll march day and night/by the old cooling tower/They have the plan/but we have the power” over and over while we stopped in our flocks and took pictures.) We arrived at a soysauce plant and Phil tried to get samples and Holly got used to Sichuanhua.

It feels really a lot like spring when you ride a bicycle through fields. I love that and can’t wait for spring to happen in Winnipeg. This is my extra spring. And it’s out here in the country, the healthy (though smoggy) country. There’s a dedicated steam train for the coal power plant that goes in or out at least once an hour. The first time it steamed through the flock of waiguoren to the crossing made me feel like part of a flock of waiguoren.

And we passed a bridge/pipeline crossing the river and went to William’s soccer field and got back to the school. All pictured up and ready to eat at the Christian Lady’s restaurant. Which was great. We eat so much for so little money and at the end the Jia Chang Doufu arrives, mercifully unsweet.

In the afternoon I found where I was sleeping and hung around with Dan. When we headed out to see downtown Jiangyou we occupied the back of the bus and William played tourguide and yields through stop signs and the Mall Mart. We wandered through the church behind the Mall Mart and the markets and saw the Car Bar where they may stage boxing or ultimate fighting. There’s a park along the canal where we saw a Tibetan guy in a cowboy hat hawking medicines to people with hands open empty plastic bags. I wasn’t allowed to take pictures of them and later Holly talked to someone and only found out they were from Tibet. Then we headed through winding markets with shoes and locks and stuff down to the statue of Li Bai who never refused wine. Because of his Taoist inclinations.

Dinner at a Muslim restaurant after losing everybody. We certainly are a group that doesn’t wait around for everyone to be ready. Dan was in the bathroom and emerged to find an empty apartment when the downtown excursion had begun. At Li Bai after examining the benches with no seats, only bolts Dan and I looked up and saw a receding cloud of foreigners. We caught up and left Darryl behind and then when we hit the canal we lost the Benders as well. We met up with William who’d gone to find Deb. And eventually we were in contact with everyone and ate another huge heap of food. My guts are so full of Sichuanny goodness.

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the interesting part of my walk to work

Portage and Colony is just the kind of intersection where you expect a guy to careen around the sidewalk on his bicycle in the the snow. So it’s unsurprising when … up over the curb and into it and almost down and swerve and almost but not quite and then oh no … there he is, wiped out.

I’m the only one there so I stop sort of half-turned and ask if he’s all right. He slurs back at me “Don’tworryI’musedtoit,” while he blows on his bloodied up palms. Walking on, I keep my eyes open for the kind of dog that bites.

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