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The reluctance to do something well only because you’re unable to make it excellent = Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good.

I want to remind people of this when the topic turns to government spending. Lately, I hear certain pundits dismiss the importance of limiting government spending as a step toward fixing the financial crisis in Washington. I hear things like, “Well, sure, they (the government) could cut programs X, Y, and Z, but really, that spending amounts to a trifle of the government’s budget.”

It was one of those days. Emphasis on one. Cloudless. Bluesky. Seventies. Windless.

I threw Otis on top of Roo and Happy Wife drove us to the start line of this year’s colorectal cancer charity ride. It’s nominally a two day ride, the first from Anchorage to Summit Lake (75 miles), and the second to Seward (45 miles). This year they offered a one day option to Summit Lake, which is what I opted for, having arranged with Happy Wife to pick me up at ~2 pm. I hadn’t done any fund raising this year or registered in advance, so I registered on the spot and wrote them a check for the minimum fund raising requirement. A good cause. And a great day. I’ve participated in this event three or more times over the years, and a day like this is one to remember. Much pleasanter than fifty degrees and sideways rain, I think you’ll agree.

Photos: 1) Second water/food stop at base of Turnagain Pass, a gnarly 6 mile climb (~1000′); 2) two riders summit Turnagain Pass; 3) Otis takes a breather at the Hope cutoff, the last water/food stop before the climb to Summit Lake, ~12 miles.

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Glad I opted for the one day option. Today it’s raining with other related foulness.

Captured from the mosh pit tonight: Michael Franti performs at Moose’s Tooth summer solstice party.

Sound quality here not so good, but live it was rockin’ good. Thanks to the Happy Wife for scoring us the tickets. A fitting end to the longest day of the year. What fun we had together, listening, jumping, signing, laughing, and enjoying the intermittent waft of MTF.

Mr. Baldwin, may I suggest a Quaalude or two? Temper temper.

Godspeed to these four.

Elsewhere, I was talking to my table mates at Jack Sprat this past Saturday, mentioning with a dubious sense of pride that I’d received my first rejection on a short story I’d sent in, when one of them said, “Oh, you want to be a writer now?” I thought, no, what I really want is readers. And I was hoping the editor at the lit journal where I submitted the story would bring them to me, by way of publishing my story. No such luck. But this is the way it goes I’m told, you twice paper your office walls with rejection letters before your first hit. I mailed the story to another lit journal late last week. Today, to Lowes, for wallpaper paste.

Today, Father’s Day, along the coastal trail.

Bigger.

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.