Rod

Anchorage to Girdweed. ~40 miles.

Along the way.

Beluga Point

Turnagain Arm

… features of Otis (Oh-tee) revealed after debut twenty-five miler.

10.  Marshmallow light! How light? So light that a full water bottle (1.625 lbs) is 10% of the entire bike’s weight.

9.  Sex appeal. Dude, Otis is like fine art, only better ’cause I can ride her. Otis draws more whistles than a skirt ‘n heels passing a construction site.

8.  Plush ride without being the least bit sloppy. The C/Ti combination absorbs all road nastiness, transmitting nothing to me.

7.  11-speed Campagnolo Record group with compact crank set. Now even old men can climb hills.

6.  Quiet. Probably because it’s new, but my old Merlin (“Merle”, now relegated to the J-hooks <sniffle>) was whisper quiet even after 15 years of praiseworthy service.

5.  Stoopid good frame geometry. Otis fits me because he was custom made for me. I was surprised at the change in my overall posture on the bike whilst ascending, descending, and soaring around turns, compared to Merle that is.

4.  Light! Worth repeating. Were it not for the overweight American atop the saddle holding him back, Otis’d ascend hills on his own.

3.  No more upper back pain or toe numbness. Gone! That’s why I got a bespoke bike.

2.  The Adamo saddle (black). Super good support for ye ol’ sit bones, plus a slot down the center for your junk.

I’m like an owl on a mole tracking the bike’s movement to Anchorage. I have never been to Troutdale, Oregon. If anybody inlooking lives in Troutdale, Oregon, perhaps you landed here by googling “Troutdale”, would you do me a favor and stop by the FedEx facility and snap a reassuring picture of my bike, and send me an e-mail? It’ll be the one dressed down in doubly reinforced cardboard.

Which reminds me, I need to establish a name for “The Bike”. I’m flirting with Otis (pronounced: Oh-tee) given the model name of my Serotta is Ottrott (Oh-troh). Ottrott being the name of a region in France, puzzling given Serotta is Italian inspired. Anyway, around our house we tend to anthropomorphize a lot. Examples: The Espresso machine isn’t “The Espresso Machine”, no,  he’s Geppetto. The oldest Siberian Larch in the yard is Laura. Our Outback is Roo. Etc.

Not like it’s a lovely day for a debut ride. Overcast and sprinkly right now. By the weekend, though, lookout — supposed to be 65 ‘n sunny! I know what you’re thinking, but recall this is 61.2 degrees north.

A perfectly fine mountain bike ride into the Chugach mountains this morning with our friends Mark, Jasper, Gypsy (aka “Little Gyp”), Aiofe, and shutter shy Lucy. No wind. No moose. No bears. One eagle. Mosquitoes galore. A shout out to the U.S. Army for inventing DEET.

Let me tell you, these dogs are athletes.

Last night, a date night with the Happy Wife at Maxines.

Where Happy Wife enjoyed what we both considered was the entree of the night, Surf ‘n Turf: Asparagus skewered prime rib sirloin, topped with spicy Alaskan crab salad, wasabi aioli, soy maple glaze and chili oil. Yum.

Oh.    My.    God.

17.04 pounds (sans pedals) in earth’s gravity.

Arriving next week!

Hope you think so too.

Hat tip: Instapundit

Cool.

And creepy, in an omen-like sort of way, that Venus’ passing coincided with Ray Bradbury’s passing.

Source: NASA Solar Dynamic Observatory.

Hat tip: Improved Clinch

Enter “mosquito microwave” as a search string, click a few top links, and you’ll see the current wisdom as to how mosquitoes avoid death by microwave. Before peeking my thought was, as small as a mosquito is, surely there must be a few molecules of water inside her, and when vibrated by microwave energy they would eventually boil, and the rapidly expanding gas/vapor would pop our summer pest wide open. Isn’t that how corn pops?

Evidently the standing waves in a conventional microwave exhibit some stochastic behavior. That is, the waves are not uniformly active on every molecule of water at every cubic angstrom of space at every instant in time. Explaining why food is unevenly heated, even with a revolving plate.

And why the mosquito that had found its way into our microwave yesterday evening when I put the beans and rice in for thirty seconds, evaded death. It was merely a stochastic luck of the draw. When I opened the door she flew out and flipped me the finger, like I had swatted her hard against my arm, which as every Alaskan knows is insufficient to kill an Alaskan mosquito. It only pisses them off.

I see, in New York it is no longer considered defamation to call somebody “gay,” thus it is not slander, and thus it is no longer illegal.

Fine.

But just try sneaking a Big Gulp past the Niggling Nanny State. Just try.

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