Riding Giants

I started thinking about this blog the moment I left the house this morning. As mentioned before, there's a steep series of downhill roads on the way to work. Going down the hill this morning I watched as my odometer slowly climbed up to 35 mph. My first few times riding this hill I always felt unstable. The crosswinds made my front wheel twitch and hitting my brakes at these speeds caused the bike frame to shudder and flex. Now, after a month of the same hill, I felt like I had mastered it. I leaned forward over the bars a little more to cut the wind and hopefully bring the speed up to 40 mph. Even with a full messenger bag, I managed to squeeze out a few more miles per hour before looking over my shoulder, crossing two lanes of traffic, and leaning deep into a lefthand turn to head east towards my office. This morning was a good one...

Anyways... What I was thinking about flying down the hill was the movie I saw this weekend – Riding Giants. Riding Giants is a new documentary about the history of big wave surfing. The movie chronicles the history of surfing as it evolved from its historic origins in native Hawaii to the 1960's Gidget inspired, surf scene of Southern California. Most of America visualizes surfing for its tanned bodies, mellow culture, and Dick Dale beach tunes. This is where the movie departs from common knowledge.

Riding Giants documents the migration of the first generation of California surfers who moved to Hawaii specifically to ride big waves. Keep in mind, this is the mid-1950's with a "Leave It To Beaver" conservative middle class growing in America. The thought of young Caucasian men with no jobs, living on the beach with the only goal of surfing 8 hours a day was completely foreign to our nation. Jack Kerouac had just gotten in the car...

Riding Giants does a great job of telling us the early adventures of pioneering big wave surfers such as Greg Noll. It follows their progression from Makaha to Waimea Bay in search of bigger and bigger waves. The audience visibly flinches every time one of these guys fall 20 to 30 feet and is crushed by a massive wave. You can hear the gasps as the movie shows increasingly bigger and bigger waves.

The movie progresses into the modern era and discusses the evolution of Laird Hamilton's tow-in surfing. The key to conquering even bigger and badder waves is developing higher speeds at the lip in order to beat the curling wave that is falling over on the surfer. Hamilton solved this in the late 1990's by having a jet ski pull him into the wave while standing on his surfboard. This changed all the rules... Hamilton starts riding 60 to 70 foot waves on a regular basis. The footage is amazing. Hamilton look like a toy racing down a mountainous wall of water. This is truly extreme sport!

And that's what I like about this movie. There is no X-Games for big wave surfing. No million dollar sponsorships or teen idol worship. Guys like Hamilton are simply riding for the rush. These guys are testing the limits of their body and their fear. Also add the fact that Stacey Peralta, Director of Dogtown and Z Boys made the movie and you walk out of the theater with a mellow high feeling that you don’t quite get with the latest blockbuster thriller.

There’s no way going down a hill at 35 mph on a bike even approaches the thrill level that the big wave riders in Riding Giants experience. If I didn’t ride down the hill; however, everyday life would be a little more mundane. If you ever want to try and understand why someone climbs a mountain, surfs a wave, or rides a bike then you might want to check out this movie.

Stop! You'll poke your eye out!

I sat on my glasses yesterday. For the past 14 years I have worn glasses every day of my life. Take off my glasses and I can't read a stop sign from 20 paces. Now my 4 year old Lenscrafters specials are completely flattened with the temple snapped off on the right side. I’m trying to tape them together with some black electrical tape. It's 6:15am in the morning...

Well... what a guy to do but bend them back into place and get to work. I ride into work wearing my Rx sunglasses and debate whether to endure the humiliation of wearing sunglasses all day or trying to hang my standard glasses on my face and hold them in place with my index finger. I take the sunglasses. Noontime finally arrives and I pay a visit to Lenscrafters.

"No, Mr. Hammond, I'm afraid that frame style was discontinued years ago. Besides the computer says that the last check-up you had was in 2000. Would you like to schedules another appointment?"

I'm the type of guy that avoids doctors of all types, especially guys in a chain retail store at the local mall. I decline and leave. Next stop, Costco. They can take me at 3:30pm. Back to the office with my shades on.

At 3:20pm I go racing out of the office and cross town to Costco (getting "crosstown" in Reno is a pretty quick process). While the doctor at Costco quizzes me about the lowest line I can read on the chart, I start to notice the rack of contact lenses on the wall.

"So, how big a hassle are contacts?"

The doctor, probably amazed that he had a patient asking some open ended questions, starts pontificating about the joys of contacts. Within ten minutes I'm holding my eyelids open, starting at a point on the ceiling, and trying not to flinch as the doctor tries to stick an Acuvue Soft Lens in my eye.

"Hold 'er steady… Lots of first-timers have trouble putting in contacts... Especially men"

I'm not sure why men have more trouble then women sticking their finger in their eye but it took me about a dozen attempts. Now, a day later, I'm sitting here typing this without glasses. I’m blinking like crazy and my eyes feel like I've been up all night watching television, BUT I’m not wearing glasses. I’m told that these contacts will get easier to put in over time and the irritation will go away. Maybe I just need to take it like a woman.

Okay... Time to start looking for new sunglasses!

Church of Donuts

Last Sunday while out on the house hunt I decided to take a pit-stop at a suburban Reno Krispy Kreme. After playing dumb at the counter and getting a hot newly glazed donut, I ordered a couple of filled donuts and a medium coffee. Sitting down with the Sunday housing classifieds and my sugary breakfast I noticed a table of 20 something kids with bibles yacking away at the table kiddy corner from me.

Within 10 minutes several more groups showed up with bibles in hand. They all looked to be college aged kids and had no other distinguishing features beyond the bibles they were carrying. Next thing I know a guy in his early 50’s shows up, bible in hand, and sits down with his group of parishioners. This preacher had on a western style green blazer, a cowboy hat, and shiny cowboy boots. He bore a strong resemblance to Billy Bob Thorton…

Now that the preacher had arrived they began to pull together tables and start to pray. I was feeling pretty strange watching all of this and noticed the other Krispy Kreme customers were also starting to become aware of the group. After a short group prayer the preacher started reading from the bible and discussing "God’s intended meaning..." and "What Christians believe...". Needless to say, I was pretty astounded…

Obviously there’s a whole lot of issues going on here.

Why is an old guy preaching to a bunch 20 something kids?

Where are the kid’s families?

Is this a cult?

Why are they holding their service in a public place?

How does Krispy Kreme feel about religious ceremonies in their lobby? Especially since only a few of the kid’s actually had bought donuts?

What about the customers who now don’t have a place to sit since five tables are now taken by the church group?

Would you confront this group?

I offer no answers, only the story and some questions. All and all, a very strange morning for me.

The Gringo

Well, I conquered some demons today on the bike. Ever since I came to Reno it's been like learning the ride the bike all over again. The pavement feels different, the air is thinner, there are mountains to climb; you get the picture. This morning I completed a 25 mile loop on McCarran Blvd. McCarran is a loop road around the city of Reno. Parts of this loop include some pretty intense climbing. To give you an idea, I ride a 2-1/2 mile section of McCarran every day on the way to work. There are street signs going down this section of road that show the symbolic semi-truck on a wedge of hill with the words "check your brakes" printed under it. The hill is a 6% grade and every morning I hit 37 mph down the hill without so much as a pedal stroke. Needless to say going home is where the challenge begins. The first day I climbed the hill on McCarran I hit 191 bpm on the heart rate monitor. My legs felt like jello by the time I got to my apartment.

After 3 weeks of riding to work and battling the "hill" I decided that it was time to tackle some of the bigger hills on McCarran Blvd. The main climb leads up through the Caughlin Ranch neighborhood and is similar to my daily commute "hill" except twice as long! Anyways...without beleaguering the blog for the non-cyclists out there I rode the hill and several others that make up the 25 mile loop. I feel pretty happy that I'm progressing and getting stronger. If only my gut was getting smaller ;-)

During the ride this morning I was reminded of a passage I read from Columbian, Santiago Botero. Botero was the World Time Trial champ several years ago and rides for the German powerhouse cycling team T-Mobile. Here is a little write-up where he talks about Lance Armstrong in the mountains at the Tour de France. It's a very good read (even for the non-cyclist)...

"There I am all alone with my bike. I know of only two riders ahead of me as I near the end of the second climb on what most riders consider the third worst mountain stage in the Tour. I say 'most riders' because I do not fear mountains. After all, our country is nothing but mountains. I train year-round in the mountains. I am the national champion from a country that is nothing but mountains. I trail only my teammate, Fernando Escartin, and a Swiss rider. Pantani, one of my rival climbers, and the Gringo Armstrong are in the Peleton about five minutes behind me.

I am climbing on such a steep portion of the mountain that if I were to stop pedaling, I will fall backward. Even for a world class climber, this is a painful and slow process. I am in my upright position pedaling at a steady pace willing myself to finish this climb so I can conserve my energy for the final climb of the day. The Kelme team leader radios to me that the Gringo has left the Peleton by himself and that they can no longer see him. I recall thinking 'the Gringo cannot catch me by himself'. A short while later, I hear the gears on another bicycle.

Within seconds, the Gringo is next to me - riding in the seated position, smiling at me. He was only next to me for a few seconds and he said nothing - he only smiled and then proceeded up the mountain as if he were pedaling downhill. For the next several minutes, I could only think of one thing - his smile.

His smile told me everything. I kept thinking that surely he is in as much agony as me, perhaps he was standing and struggling up the mountain as I was and he only sat down to pass me and discourage me. He has to be playing games with me. Not possible. The truth is that his smile said everything that his lips did not. His smile said to me, 'I was training while you were sleeping, Santiago'. It also said, 'I won this tour four months ago, while you were deciding what bike frame to use in the Tour. I trained harder than you did, Santiago. I don't know if I am better than you, but I have outworked you and right now, you cannot do anything about it. Enjoy your ride, Santiago. See you in Paris.'

Obviously, the Gringo did not state any of this. But his smile did dispel a bad rumor among the riders on the tour. The rumor that surfaced as we began the Prologue several days ago told us that the Gringo had gotten soft. His wife had given birth to his first child and he had won the most difficult race in the world - He had no desire to race, to win.

I imagine that his smile turned to laughter once he was far enough not to embarrass me. The Gringo has class, but he heard the rumors - he probably laugh all the way to Paris. He is a great champion and I must train harder. I am not content to be a great climber, I want to be the best. I learned much from the Gringo in the mountains. I will never forget the helpless feeling I had yesterday. If I ever become an international champion, I will always remember the lesson the Gringo taught me.

Offer and a dinner

Woo Hoo! We got an offer on our condo in Chicago. Hopefully this will be the start of the process to get Ting, Zoe, and I reunited in Reno! I miss them terribly despite the decadent bachelor lifestyle I have been living (hanging out at Albertsons and all)...

After discussing the offer with Ting last night I decided that a celebration meal was in order; something beyond the normal fast food I was used to. Close to my apartment there is a small coffeeshop, Waldens, that serves sandwiches and other light meals. They are known for live music and alway seemed busy so I thought I would check out the local scene. Walking up the coffee shop I was confronted by a teenager with a 10” Mohawk haircut, dressed in the standard disenchanted youth outfit: Black jeans, combat boots, and an Exploited t-shirt (can anyone actually say that they’ve heard a tune by he Exploited?). I felt pretty confident walking in with my polo shirt, khaki shorts, and un-tattooed skin…

Inside I was surprised to find an interesting cross-section of culture. There were middle-aged families having dinner, 20-something slacker college students drinking coffee, and of course, a couple tables of disenchanted youth who were waiting for the band to start playing. I ordered a ham and swiss on sourdough and took it all in. The band was a folk/rock act with a female lead singer. The cool part about the act was that a couple family members where there to watch her perform and she even invited a young (5-6 y.o.) girl to come up and sing with her. Once again, I felt pretty hip reading a book, enjoying my sandwich, and listening to live music.

I hung out for an hour getting free refills on iced tea until I knew I'd better head home. Walking out I noticed the coffee shop had WiFi access. I wonder what Thoreau would have thought about wireless internet, electric guitars and punks hanging out with yuppies... Maybe the coffee shop didn't take it's name from the pond...

Tattoos

Reno has to be the tattoo capital of the US. Never before have I seen so much design on so much skin (and you see a lot more skin out here due to the warm weather). Example - last week I saw a tattoo on a woman in formal business attire (at my favorite place Albertsons, no less). Some type of scrollwork down the back of her leg. Another example, There’s a girl in my apartment complex who can’t be more then 15 or 16 y.o. with a large red tattoo over most of her lower back. I’m not sure what the design is but I think she’s Marcus’s older sister (see prior blog entry about the pool).

The other day a 20-something girl came into our office to ask about a manufacturing job. One of our guys from production came out and spoke with her. The first words out of her mouth were "I like that tattoo! I had a similar one but had it burned off recently!". This launched into a discussion about the pain of getting a tattoo vs. the pain of removing a tattoo. What a way to start the interview process.

And not to give you the idea that I’m only noticing women with tattoos; I’ve seen many men with tattoos, as well. These are all normal looking guys NOT biker types with Harley’s and leather jackets…

In fact, I’d say it’s a rarity to see anyone out here WITHOUT a tattoo. Admittedly, I feel like a minority in my un-inked, plain, pasty skin out here. Maybe its time to get that anchor on my bicep or the serpent around my ankle (Probably before Ting gets out here)…

Reno Observations - Friendly?

The western US is definitely different from the Midwest. With that in mind, I'd like to point out a few observations of the differences between Chicagoans and Renoites.

Whoa! The first thing I noticed was that people were friendly out here. Certainly more friendly then I was used to after eleven years of living in Chicago. On my first visit to Albertson’s Grocery store I was confronted by the happiest checkout guy I’d ever seen.

Checkout guy - “How are you doing today sir? (looking interested)”
Steve – “Huh?”
Checkout guy – “Did you find what you needed today? (large grin)”
Steve – “Umm… Yeah”
Checkout guy – “It sure is hot out there! Don’t let your ice cream melt. (chuckle)”
Steve – “yeah okay”

Steve – “I just moved here… How do I get one of those Albertson discount cards?”
Checkout guy – “Well Well…welcome to Reno! I can certainly help you out with that! Fill out this form and return it back to me! (looking excited)”
Steve – “great (rushing to the exit door)”
Checkout guy – “have a great day Mr. Hammond (remembering name from my receipt)”

This exchange gave me a flashback to Steve Martin in My Blue Heaven. In Chicago the checkout people look like they’re on work duty from the local prison. It’s hard to imagine getting too excited about a part time job at minimum wage with no benefits. In Chicago, you’d better know how to work the credit/debit keypad or you’re sure to raise the ire of the checkout guy, no less the people in line behind you.

I also experienced this strange friendliness while driving (people wave at you when you cut them off), riding my bike (people smile at your sweat laden face when stopped at a light), and walking down the sidewalk (people say hello and freely sidestep out of the way).

Starting off in Reno...

Well… A few people asked me about the bachelor pad out here so I figured I’d provide a little feedback. The apartment is a little sparse right now. I drove out with all our camping equipment so I've got mini, folding pots and pans to cook with and a sleeping bag and air mattress for a bed.

Apartment living is pretty amusing. I'm close to UNR (Univ. of Nevada - Reno) so I have strange mix of college kids, retirees, and various immigrant families in my apartment complex. The family next to me is Muslim. Every day after riding home I enjoy a nice cold beer on my outside porch. Oftentimes their two little kids are playing on their porch and the Dad gives me a nervous grin every time he sees me sucking down a cold one in front of his kids.... The other evening I was recuperating in the pool after a hot, 100F ride home and got asked to participate in a "chicken fight" with a bunch of kids in the pool. Next thing you know, Marcus, a 5 year old, had his legs locked around my neck and was grappling with his sister. School should begin soon and I won't have to worry about Marcus trying to send me to the Chiropractor...

Here it is....

Well, I've been looking for a while for a place on the web to chronical some of the trials and tribulations of our life and our move to Reno. Looks like Blogs are pretty trendy these days and Blogger.com makes it pretty easy so welcome to Tingandsteve's Blogspot! Look for new content as time permits in the upcoming days...

Steve