Biking with E. Third Time Out

Return of the Biker

Shutting Up about Falling Down

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It seems to me that you have a 72-hour window to complain about non-chronic pain that is going to go away, probably in a day or two but certainly in a week for two. I think now is the time for the theater of my distress to "go dark." Just don't ask why I'm wincing a little and mincing a little. When anyone new inquires, I think that starts the clock all over again -- for them.

Anyway, I went to my regular Kaiser doc today, just to check in and to get permission to drive. He was in a rare mood, suggesting the Hayward ER guys were "sissies" for keeping me for six hours because of a fainting spell. Pain can cause a "vasovagal" episode, he said, and loss of blood certainly could. Checking out the purple mural on my thigh (and the domains that there adjacent lie) he guessed I could have dumped a couple pints of blood out into the fat and muscle, so that could have knocked me out, too.

The idea was that if he had been in the Hayward ER, he would have given me an inspirational poem and a pack of prophylactics and sent me on my way.

Now, of course, E. had already measured my thighs, computed comparative cubic volume using some calculus fudges and concluded I had lost three pints of blood as measured in cubic centimeters. As for the rest of it, my doc essentially said I should .... Well, he had no specific recommendations other than never ever riding my bicycle in the rain. That was right out, he said. But I had already figured that part out on my own.

Oh, I also told him I had to miss a departmental meeting today because of my difficulty sitting down and a general malaise (last complaint; no more).

Well, good for you, he said, with feeling.

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I Fall Down, Go to the Emergency Room

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Big Pat Daugherty and I bike Thursday mornings. One week last year it was raining just a little, and I did not show up. Of course, Pat biked on, probably twice as fast and much of the time reared up on a single wheel.

I concluded I had done a timid thing. At the REI I bought a rain jacket and rain pants as if courage was all a matter of being sufficiently garish. I think the prediction this Thursday a.m. was 90 percent chance of precipitation, but it was only spitting rain when Pat and I rendezvoused at the Albany Bulb. Gradually, the rain increased in intensity, but Pat proceeded at a stately pace -- and my rain gear was working wonderfully well -- so perhaps I was complacent about an hour into the ride when I decided to move from beside Pat (I was chattering away) to behind him as we approached a curve.

I touched his rear wheel with my front wheel, jerked the handlebars to the left and went sprawling. It would seem -- and you must trust me on this for the photograph of the bruises is not suitable for family entertainment -- that I came off the seat and down on the bike frame before the bike tipped and dumped me.

I was very rude to myself, if you follow me.

I was mostly concerned about tearing a hole in my wonderful orange raincoat. I felt a little ... compromised, but I got back on the bike, and we finished up, and I hurried home so I could rush over to USF to greet our new transfer students.

I fell about 11 a.m. Around 2 p.m. I suddenly felt quite dizzy as I sat in my office. I walked down the hall to get a drink of water and fainted, absolutely terrifying several students who were nodding respectfully in my direction at the moment of collapse. They hauled me up (it took four of them) and kept an eye on me as I returned to my office.

About this time E. called. I told her about the fall, though I did not tell her about my fainting.

Which was stupid. And then I drove home.

Which was stupid.

Meanwhile, E. had called Kaiser and made an appointment for me at six o'clock at the Minor Injury Clinic in Hayward since -- not knowing about the fainting -- she assumed we might sit for hours in the Oakland emergency room.

I was quite proud that I was not embarrassed when the Physician's Assistant (female) examined my wounded man parts. They took an x-ray of my pelvic area. And I told them about fainting three hours after the accident.

It was then that I learned that fainting is apparently a Get Out of Jail Free card (in the sense of being a Get into the Emergency Room Fast card). I thought it was self evident that getting whacked in the testicles might light a fuse of time-delayed pain and somatic distress that would produce a fainting fit in the best of us.

Of which I do not claim to be.

Anyway, I was poked a bit and prodded a bit and deprived of several vials of blood as the docs explored the possibility of concussion, heart attack, pleurisy, walking pneumonia up to an including out of body experience. Around midnight they let me go, saying that my name had been turned in, and I wasn't cleared to drive until my regular doc takes a look at me sometime next week.

Friday morning I woke up *in pain* my friend -- barely able to walk, had no interest in walking, developed an aversion to the word. As I said, I had quite a nice bruise, which my wife has documented. (With the instructions, "Put your hand there. For modesty.")

I feel much better today, though when I sat down on a hard chair about a half hour ago....

The point is that riding in the rain didn't cause the accident. It was a diminution of caution caused by our slowing down because we were riding in the rain that caused the accident.

Or, as my wife says, parse it how you will, you don't have to be a CSI spinoff to diagnose yet another tragic case of testosterone poisoning.

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Those Quads, Those Calves

Regular Thursday morning bike riding with Pat. Cut eight minutes off our recent best time.

Cue the applause.

Routine Post About a Routine Bike Ride

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It's a tradition now, my Thursday morning bike ride with Pat. 'T was humid with spitting rain, but overall a fine gray morning with the Bayside track to ourselves most of the way. Pat asked if I was fuelled by my dose of replacement hormones, and I said perhaps I was fuelled by the fact of diagnosis and therapy commenced rather than by the actual therapy.

Who knows? I'm taking a miniscule dose of artificial thyroxin, only 0.05 milligrams. Whether or not this is an effective dose awaits a blood test in six weeks. Now I need to cut down on carbs and push my glucose lower.

And I used to laugh about old folks who talked only of aches, pains, bunions and (oh woe) the quantity and quality of their stool.

Riding, Walking, Wincing

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What a morning: a brisk hour on the bike in the fog along the Bay with Big Pat, then a quick lunch downtown with E. to leave her the car, then a walk home in the sun beside the lake.

And the ball of my left foot hurts. Dr. Stumpf (codename Stumpy) says no no no don't come in until you try a metatarsal pad, which (he says) is so much better than a mere insole.

Sit quietly without drawing attention to yourself and I will come back later to tell you if I agree with him.

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Biking with Pat, or "The Goddess is My Co-Pilot"

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One of best days ever for biking along the Bay, given the temperature, the views of the city, the absence of wind. Some knee pain, but -- as Pat promised -- that subsided.

Good luck or good design? Perhaps indicating I'm still not hitting on all eight, I put my bike on the bike carrier and forgot to strap it down. I notice this on the express way at 70 looking in the rear view mirror.

The bike did not bounce off! Well, one side of it did, but because of the rake of support bars, it bounced toward the back of the car and was still held up by those support bars.

I like to think that on Amazon Island, Mom took The Goddess aside and whispered: "My son-in-law needs a little help. Please?"

Would You Like Zombie Fries with That?

Spent a happy hour-plus on a conference call with our Florida lawyer, E. and her sister being on location in the actual lawyer's office, talking about how to settle Mom's estate. The estate consists more or less of a ten-year-old car, some dishes and stuffed animals, enough knickknacks to jump start the Victorian age and some decent pieces of furniture in which E. and I (snobs to the core) have no interest.

If the estate seems vacuous, as you know nature -- and the legal profession -- abhors a vacuum, so we are expected to keep tossing money into that vacuum to "get things settled." (Editor: Insert sound of shrugging shoulders.)

After I got off the phone, I went biking with Big Pat. We struggled. It took us an hour-five to cover a distance Pat used to do in half that, and probably still could if not encumbered by me.

Then I dropped by Pat's apartment to look at Rose, his dachshund, who may be near her end, if a dachshund can be said to be near her end. (Sorry).

She is such a gallant little dog. Her rear legs twitched frantically as she tried to control them. We made hopeful noises and suddenly she walked six inches and produced a handsome example of dog excrement.

That fine turd is her ticket to ride. As long as she eats and eliminates, Pat will keep her alive. Her gaze is still strong, and she cornered me with a flurry of barks when we came back to the apartment. Perhaps, I should say I carefully positioned myself in relation to her barking so that we achieved the semblance of cornering. It's all about respect, which Rose deserves .

Then we walked down the block to Berkeley's finest Nepalese restaurant -- there are three, which is wild -- where I had a Blue Himalaya beer and a lamb curry with extra naan and a big serving of vegetables, which should reassure E. that she also has me cornered when it comes to healthy living.

Continuing the dog metaphor: Lassie, come home. I hope by Tuesday she will.

My Wife's Cut of Yesterday's Bike Video

It's not her cut exactly. She said that at ten minutes the video was unwatchable and that I should cut it to 50 seconds. (That's what she said. No hyperbole.)

Of course, she's right. But it's *work* to edit. (Originally, I had "edit down," though not all editing is cutting, just the most useful kind for most creators.)

Anyway, here's The Directors Cut of Dr. Peloton and Spiro Go to Richmond.

I Will Enjoy This, and Pat Will Enjoy This And ... That's About It

What My New Bike Looks Like

Almost too pretty to ride, though it rides like a dream.

Biking: Return of the Kings

Image by richardmasoner via Flickr

Pat and I biked today, but the little camcorder needed fresh batteries,and so only an account is available, not the eyeballed version.

Beautiful day on the Bay trail! My new bike is quite nifty, lighter than the ones I borrowed from Peter and Chris and suited to my frame. (Peter is several inches shorter than I am,and Chris is several inches taller.) The simple fact of 'yours-ness' also counts for something. I am *one* with the *machine*. Or, to put it another way, I didn't fall off, not once.

We'll do this once a week. My heart will soften at the beauty of bayside, and my buttocks will harden. (They darn well better.)

The Bike. The Man. The Adventure.

Today I bought a Trek 7.3 Grand Something-Or-Other bike. Last year Big Pat and I were riding weekly on the Bay Trail between the Berkeley Marina and Richmond Marina -- I believe there's a video back there somewhere. But I was riding borrowed wheels, and last year the owner of the last set asked for them back.

I tried to buy a bike on College Avenue, but the bike they were going to bring over from the Orinda store never arrived. I called a couple times, and then a few weeks later someone called and asked if I still wanted them to bring that bike I was interested in over from the Orinda store. But by that time I had lost faith.

The clerks at a Piedmont Avenue bike shop ignored me. The baby-faced girl clerk at the Berkeley bike shop was so damn grudging and uninterested in my antique quests that I slunk away in shame.

Today Big Pat took me to his favorite little bike shop opposite the Claremont Hotel -- which I *think* is in Berkeley, but the boundary ebbs and flows in that area. A nice lady in her 30s calmly walked me through my price range, and to my surprise one of the bikes on the floor fit me fine. I wobbled around the Claremont parking lot just to satisfy the nice lady and Big Pat -- as if a wobbly 50 yards could tell me anything. Well, they told me this is a pretty nimble bike, and I can get on and off it without doing any damage to latent dreams of fatherhood.

Video to come.