So Endeth The Lay of Speed VS. The n00b.

So I dropped in by the dog park at Florida Canyon today for the first time. I could see this leg of the trail from my usual drop zone over behind the baseball field.

So.

Let's talk about going downhill really, really fast vs. the n00b. Well perhaps there isn't much to say apart from the fact that I had no idea how downhills speed is inversely proportional to steering when doing 900 mph down a relatively narrow track.

O' how the mighty have fallen... into a serious thicket of stinky weeds!

Here's how it went down: I pedaled like a joyful child past the dog park, avoiding all turdage successfully and dropped in at the trailhead. I continued to pedal, carefree downhill. It was wonderful.

Then I realized I was going faster than I ever had before. Was that a sonic boom I just heard? Did I just pass a Bluebird flying next to me? Did the cars down on Florida St. seem to be moving in slow motion? What's that light at the end of the tunnel? Are those angels singing?

Then I saw it! The wooden bridge over the runoff creek at the very bottom of this run. It was laughing at me, with its huge wooden plank teeth moldering, dripping sap from its weed breakfast. It was happy for soon it would eat a stupid 30 something for lunch.

There was nothing for it. I am not a real mountain biker. I am a n00b. So I did what 15 years of skateboarding have taught me: get low on the rig, lean into it, and take it like a man.

So I hit the the planks going somewhere between 896-907 mph (my internal gauge is a little off), and ran right off the left side of it, caught exactly one pico-second of glorious air before I too ate a weed breakfast.

The rest of the heroes song includes mighty tales of a screwed up derailleur, a chain falling off on the ride home and other such epic details... but at that one big bite of plant cereal pretty much endeth the Lay of Speed VS. the n00b.

Anaphylaxis = t3h sUcKagE!!!

As you can see by these letters I am still alive, no thanks to the administration of a vegetarian Indian curry lunch special spiked with shellfish. SHELLFISH!!??!

Somebody needs to consult their cookbook a little more closely. The last time I checked, it in no way required shrimp to curry some potatoes. Maybe Indian cuisine is starting to take cues from Thai dishes. Thai food loves to use brine shrimp as flavoring. It literally involves steeping tiny, tiny shrimp like they are tea leaves in some hot water and then dumping the shrimp and keeping the new "shrimp tea" so you can flavor your dish with it.

Seeing as this behavior makes no sense in any way related to flavor, we must assume that these recipes were written to kill me and anyone else with a serious allergy to shellfish. Beware people, your Pad Thai hates you and is out for blood.

I told the host at the restaurant that I was severely allergic to shellfish and that I could not eat anything that even remotely came into contact with them. He recommended some of the vegetarian dishes and some chicken dishes, and then (I should have seen this, but was caught off guard) he said the dreaded, "you'll be fine."

Now, I should know that hearing these words from a restaurant employee regarding any food allergy is like the kiss of death. He might as well have pulled out a gun and shot me right there, and then done the evil voodoo dance on my sorry carcass. "You'll be fine" said to a person with a food allergy means, in kitchen speak, "yer on yer own, you sorry ass jerk, and if you die its no less than you deserve for bothering to wake up this morning."

So the story goes: I ate the potato curry and realized it was spiked with crustacean crud. Fast forward 30 minutes and I am in the ER repenting for every sin both known and unknown I have ever committed. I really didn't want to die because of God's wrath via his instrument of death, the potato curry.

I know its shallow, but I just can't go out like that. It would hurt my ego too much to die in any other that 2 ways: mega epic tale of amazing feats, or simply and humbly of old age with a big family and a long life. Anything else is simply not acceptable.

I am done with 5 days of prednisone, and thank God for that because I hated every minute of it. That drug is evil and scary. Now that I am done not sleeping for 5 days, all I have to worry about is the dreaded prednisone crash. I am not sure if it will happen to me; it was a short term dose? I really, really hope it doesn't.

Waiting...

I shall return to tell you that IT'S MY BIKE! when I feel good enought to ride again.

Until then, just say no to deadly allergens.

Its My Bike! Ride Report 00002: Florida Canyon

Went out today for my second mountain bike ride ever.

Those of you familiar with me in RL know that I am among the most neurotic people ever born. I am also obsessive, stubborn, fear-driven, and compulsive. In other words, I was born to ride.

Today I decided the only way to get good at this is to force it. And I mean in exactly the way that people say, "ya can't force those sort of things." I can. I will.

And I almost did force it. I almost forced my pancreas through my bellybutton today.

Highlights today:

1) An inadvertent epic power slide that had an existential quality to it in the sense that I saw all of bike-dom flash before me in a revelation of wisdom. I knew the powerslide was a legitimate move on a sharper bottom turn. What I didn't know was what the hell I was doing.

This of course led to a miniature near heart-and-kidney-and-bladder failure inducing anxiety attack. It happened in less than 3 picoseconds and lasted until the moment I was already down the trail realizing I had survived a move I don't know how to do.

2) A classic face slap by my favorite bush. We're talking pimp style backhand here. I almost cried, but I was interrupted by a bumpy rut that was trying to wrestle me to the ground and take my wallet.

3) The aforementioned pancreas forcing moment. Despite the fact that I drew up all my Kung Fu Chi and threw it at this climb, I was stopped as if my legs and bike where set in concrete.

I was forced to perform the "walk of shame" up the rest of the hill to a flat spot.

Don't worry about not being there: I made fun of myself for you.

As they say nowhere in particular "Sassaplorn Krendle!"

Its My Bike! Ride Report 00001: Florida Canyon

Upon @JesseEisner's prompting Seth and I decided to try Florida Canyon for my first mountain bike ride ever.

I tried so hard I nearly blacked out.

Things I remember:

1) My arms rattling so hard on downhill that I thought they were going to shake out of their sockets.

2) Ass pain. The seat on my clunker is efficient in one way: it was designed by the Marquis Du Sade to torture any fool stupid enough to ride this bike.

3) PURE JOY. If you don't ride, you don't know. If you do, well... pour yourself a tall pint tonight and toast the joy of mountain bikes, there is nothing like it in the world.

I am hooked.