Dave’s Good Stuff

Today is my last day here in TX. I fly out tonight, and will spend the evening with a friend and a bottle of wine to relax and decompress after a busy and stressful, though not at all unpleasant trip to the Lone Star State.

I can, without reservation, say that the people here are some of the friendliest I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. In spite of the fact that my job (information security) tends to put people on edge, especially when I’m performing audits of processes and personnel, they were, to the last, cooperative, eager to please, and open to any and all suggestions. They even agreed to install a jacuzzi behind the main branch for my next visit next year. Isn’t that something?

Tomorrow looks to be another relatively busy day. I finally get to pick up the Dew Drop at Midwest Cyclery! I cannot wait! It’s going to be so nice to have a completely working bicycle to ride again. The poor Torelli needs a couple of new parts to be 100%, and so I’ve opted to let her rest for the time being. The Fire Mountain is… well, it’s a frame on a nail.

After that, I pick up my brother and his wife at the airport, and then while she’s having dinner with family, we’ll head up to the pool hall and I’ll show him the what’s what on the table.

Until…

Though I be in Texas, far away from home and the bike that awaits me, new and unridden, with virgin saddle, as it were, my thoughts stray now and again, all the same, to the subject of cycling. I think on how nice it will be to once again sit astride the saddle, my arms outstretched holding brake levers and handlebars. I think on how nice it will be to see my waistline diminish once again, rather than continue it’s current trend of slow expansion. I think on how nice it will be to once again stride out the front doors with pride, knowing that I will be making it home on my own power, while at the same time clowning around like a fool for the cadre of lustful (though unfortunately married) women who have come to be a sort of 4:30pm Fan Club for yours truly (I take the ego boosts where I can get them). But lately, one thought presses forward as I spend minute after empty minute in the cabin of an automobile instead of the saddle of a bicycle… that thought is what I will share with you now.

And here it is, then.

That thought is patience.

More than a healthier body (and the unabashed admiration of womenfolk all across the lands), more than all those things I mentioned above, cycling has given me patience.

I tool about in my car, making my way steadily and surely to my destination, watching in bemused awe as drivers around me scream about (literally and figuratively both), forcibly changing lanes at the last minute, riding bumpers in unabashed displays of apparent superiority, verily burning valuable rubber off at stop signs and stop lights in a desperate attempt to get to the next stop sign or stop light that much sooner, and generally behaving like a group of angry baboons… all in the name of shaving valuable seconds off their commutes.

I used to be one of them. I used to scream at others who behaved in ways not to my liking. I used to drive as aggressively as defensively. I used to speed everywhere I went. I used to strain the engine and the brakes both starting and stopping. I used to be one of them. But I’ve spent a lot of time on the roads in a saddle this year. I’ve learned first hand the energy it takes to go uphill, to start from a stop and to increase to a higher speed. I’ve gained a sense of what my car must be experiencing when I demand of it the same. I’ve learned how it feels to be truly vulnerable on the roads, though my vulnerability has not (as of yet, thankfully) been tested. I no longer consider myself one of them.

I’ve also gained what I believe is a relatively rare sense of time as it relates to distance and traversing said distance.

And this is my point.

It takes a lot longer to get from point A to B on a bike than a car (assuming a distance of any significance and without a maze of stop lights). I’m used to taking that extra time, so now as I’ve found myself behind a wheel more than on a saddle lately, I’m far more patient being behind the wheel, knowing that I’ll get there if I relax, take my time, pay attention, and avoid daredevil behavior. I know what it’s like to take a long time to get home. Driving a car home takes no time at all.

A side benefit, in addition to the lower blood pressure and overall better demeanor is that the learned patience cycling has taught me gives me a better chance of getting where I’m going safely. Not bad as far as side benefits go.

Bike: Midwest Cyclery in Kansas City, KS.
Me: Embassy Suites in Frisco, TX.

Huh.

I’m off to Texas for the week. Another week of no riding, and this week will likely see no pool either… at least the hotel will have a gym.

Last night I was playing solo on a 9-foot table at the local pool hall. A couple guys come up and want to gamble. $1 a rack. Seriously? $1.00 a rack? Red flag #1. $1.00 is petty change, but I don’t gamble. It’s a principle thing. I have, on occasion, but very rarely, and only with people I know and trust to not break my jaw.

One of the guys, perhaps in his late 40’s or early 50’s and seemingly “in charge”, goes on about the 1, 5 and 9 being money balls… trying to talk the talk, throwing lingo around like it’s rice at a wedding. Red flag #2. I have a tough time convincing him that I don’t gamble, but am certainly willing to share the table for a while. “What’s the 9 mean, then?” he asks. “It means you win?” I respond. “Uh… you get to break the next rack…” Red flag #3. I’m really starting to wonder at this point about the fellow as this line of conversation goes on for about a minute. Finally, we agree to just play. He racks.

In a manner of speaking.

It’s loose. He can’t control the rack and bumps the balls all over when he tries to lift it. Never mind that the head ball is 3 inches from the spot. I gently allow as to how it should be straight, tight, and on the spot. It takes him (seriously) about a minute to finally get the rack reasonably tight, and figure out how to rack. I’m caught between tapping my toes in frustration and laughing out loud at his clumsy ineptitude. And this guy wanted to gamble?

I give some thought to the idea that maybe he’s playing with me. Maybe he’s coming across as a bumbling idiot in the hopes of luring me into some money games, at which time he’ll wipe the floor with me. I don’t spend much time on that line of thinking.

I cleaned the table with him. Over and over again. He never lets on that he actually knows what he’s doing. He’s a loud talker who puts more energy into making fun of those shots I missed than congratulating me on those I make. I’m not easily sharked by such things, and since I neither know the guy, nor want to, it’s of no consequence to me. He tires of racking (but not before I’ve tired of watching his tragic attempts) and wanders aimlessly off to hit on some underage girls. Pure class, that one. I proceed to clean the table with his mumbling friend who, all sweat and B.O. and clearly unaware of personal space and boundaries, was also entirely too “familiar.” It was a little creepy.

Pet Peeve: People who stand next to the table while I’m shooting. Find a seat, slick. Sit down, get out of the way, and let me shoot.

As it started taking them longer and longer to rack the balls after I beat the crap out of them, I started racking them myself and just shooting it out like they weren’t there. Eventually they quietly left. Well, sweaty guy did whine a little bit, but I responded with an unsympathetic “This table costs money and you guys were wasting mine.” Mr. Class was nowhere to be seen, so I allowed myself to simply be grateful for his absence. My increasing misery at their presence was obvious enough that the waitress commented on it after they left.

That painful chapter of my life over, I got in a small “Rack Attack” demo competition with some other guys. I ended up with a less-than-stellar 39 out of 50, but there was a moment. During my second rack I was on shot 9 with 2 balls left and I have a choice. I can make one ball and I get 9 points. Or I can make both balls in one shot and not only get 10 points, but also crazy pool cred and the shouts and worship of all those around watching.

Care to guess which shot I attempted? I won’t make you. I had the shape and saw the pattern, so I rocketed the first ball into a corner pocket, sending the cue ball screaming around the table three rails and perfectly into the second ball, sending it, in turn flying into the same corner pocket. Oh yes. There was shouting. There was praise. There were high-fives and looks of wonder and envy. It was glorious.

I’m not a fan of the name of the game… it seems a little melodramatic to me, but I do like how it lends itself to (designed for?) stats keeping and finding a true average that can’t honestly be determined against opponents of various skill levels.

Bike today? Magic 8-ball says: Maybe.

Friday of this week, or Monday of next. Since I’ll be out of town all next week, this effectively puts my Drop in my hands at the tail end of November, making my mileage goal just a little bit out of reach. I can try, and I will, but… I may end up making up the miles by increasing the goal for next year by the difference.

Blah.

Saturday night I went to Sharks, a local pool hall, with the intent of entering a 9-ball tournament. I did exactly that. And for it being my first tournament in years, I didn’t do too bad. I pulled 6th place out of 30 entrants. I completely choked on my last match, but it was very late, and I’m just not used to marathon playing like that. I’m giving it time. It’ll all come back. Last weekend was just the start.

However, that’s really not the point. The point is…

I’m sitting there watching a match between two of the best players in the tournament. Why wouldn’t I? Free lessons, after all. A guy is sitting next to me. Older, I’m thinking maybe 50 or so, he looks really familiar, but I can’t place him, and being more interested in the match being played out in front of me, I let it go. We start talking, and introduce ourselves. His name is Paul. We’re critiquing the match, sharing stories, just generally chatting. He tells about how he’s been playing the game for 55 years (turns out he’s 60), and is so grateful to the game for carrying him around the world multiple times, giving him the opportunity to learn 5 different languages and meet literally thousands upon thousands of fantastic people.

I’m listening, but what he’s saying isn’t really sinking in. Around the world? Many languages? Thousands upon thousands of people? How many pool players credit all that to the game? I’m going to lay my money on a pretty slim minority.

It still doesn’t sink in that this fellow is probably a pretty remarkable player. He has a very humble demeanor, though he’s obviously very confident in what he says. A stranger in the pool hall, he immediately zeroed in on the best players in the house which speaks to his skill in knowing what to look for.

My name is called, and I settle into my last match… the one, as I said, that I choked on. It was with a friend of mine I’ve known for about a decade now, and he’s been in my head for a while. I really wanted to beat him, but I couldn’t let go of the idea that he was going to beat me. We’re chatting between shots, and he asks if I knew Paul Gerni was there. All of a sudden it clicks. THAT’S where I recognize him from! ESPN! Paul… Paul Gerni… is an internationally renown trick shot artist with more than a few titles under his belt!

Unbelievable! I was just chatting with a guy that knows as much about pool as damn near anyone, and doing so like I had a clue what I was talking about!

After my match, I go over and watch him give a little impromptu exhibition. If nothing else, I should have continued talking with him b/c his assistant was just crazy cute…

I can see it coming. It’s going to happen. It’s inevitable.

The scope of this blog will, barring some unforeseen tragedy, will broaden to be more inclusive of home projects and pool/billiards in addition to the already heavy weight given to cycling.

But I want to make it easy for people to get just what they want. If all you care about is cycling, and couldn’t give a rats behind what I’m going with my basement bathroom, I’m not going to force it on you.

I’ll probably set up some sort of layout here to emphasize the different categories, but for now, I’ve made it easy to subscribe to feeds based on the topic I’m blathering on about mindlessly. Here they are:

• Billiards (RSS)
• Blathering (RSS)
• Blog (RSS)
• Computers (RSS)
• Cycling (RSS)
• Employment (RSS)
• Entertainment (RSS)
• Family (RSS)
• For Sale (RSS)
• Health (RSS)
• House & Home (RSS)
• Politics (RSS)
• Travel (RSS)

There you have it. They’ll be in the sidebar as well. Subscribe away if you want to.