Greatest Moments (so far)...

A few weeks ago I was reading one of the few blogs I follow, Jill Outside. If you haven't ever checked it out or heard of it, you should visit it. Not only is she an amazing writer, but she takes awesome photos to go with the story. Plus she's lived in a few different places, does endurance events both on the bike and on the trails (and both summer and winter seasons for that matter), and seemingly has a never ending list of ideas to write about. When I was reading a few weeks ago, she was talking about her "Greatest Moments", things she has done that have defined her over the course of her life. I'm stealing that idea and presenting my list of great moments for your reading enjoyment. They are in no particular order.

1) Conquering the Philmont Trail

I have often credited my boy scout troop with shaping me into the person I am today. It helped me build up my confidence and taught me disciplines I would've never learned on my own. That being said, I'm not gonna particularly run out and sign Dav up for scouting. Our troop was very unique, and most of the ones today are, for lack of a better word, a bunch of sissies that only care about book work and merit badges. Anyhow, one of the trips our troop did was going down to a ranch in New Mexico named "Philmont Scout Ranch". Hundreds of thousands of acres set aside solely for scout troops to hike the backcountry. Many different routes existed, and we picked on of the daunting ones. 120 miles over 10 days including going up and over Bear Mountain with full packs. To a 15 year old, this is an extremely intimidating prospect. I'll write more about the Philmont trail at a later time, but we finished the trail and I still to this day think about some of the experiences I had on the Philmont Trail.

2) Becoming a Dad

When Elli told me she was pregnant with Daven, a flood of emotion and thoughts swept over me. I was intimidated with the thought, worried that I would fail expectations, yet overjoyed and thrilled to "test" myself with the ultimate litmus test. So far I think I'm doing alright, and wouldn't want the alternative (no kids) ever again.

3) Finishing the Horribly Hilly Hundreds

2007, 2008, and 2009 all resulted in failing as it pertains to finishing this beast of a ride. 125 miles with over 11,000 feet of elevation gain all in one day during the summer solstice is not many peoples idea of fun. Paying for this privilege seems even more insane. But after being disappointed for 3 years in a row, in 2010 I finally finished all 125 miles, and didn't put a foot down once while on the course. I repeated the same feat this year. Not only is this ride challenging physically, but it is one of the hardest things mentally to do. The long course has an estimated drop out rate of 2/3's of the field. Just finishing proves your worth in the cycling community.

4) Having the courage to move out to Montana and surviving the MT internship

Say what you want about what I do, but the internship sucks. You don't get paid for it, you're required to work a FT schedule, and along the way study, pay rent and other bills, pass quizzes, and then pass 2 bitch of tests. Elli and I both worked 7 days a week almost the entire 9 months we were out there. It was stressful, but a whole ton of fun. I would put in 4 10 hour days at the hospital, followed by 3 full days working as a liftie at the local ski resort, and then repeat it all come Monday. Just to add to the chaos, we adopted Bubba while we were out there, cause you know, we had about 10 minutes of free time for the week we needed to fill. And we didn't know where we were gonna live until the night before we left ND. We both loved MT, and if an opportunity would've arose for me to work out there, we'd probably still be out there.

5) Being the person I am today

With all that went on while I was growing up, my life could've gone a completely different path. I could've easily just went with the half assed approach, accepted things for what they were, and ended up on the other side of the spectrum. The fact that I didn't makes me proud of myself. And not just me, but my two sisters as well. All 3 of us are thriving. It is a testament to our character, and I'm also proud of them for getting to where they are as well.

There's so many more, and I could fill up this post with hours of talk. But these are kind of the ones that stick out when I think about it. It's been a hell of a ride, and I'm anxious to see what lies ahead.

1 part energy drink, 1 park toxic mold, all that adds up to rocket fuel!

Last weekend I rode the HHH for the 5th time, and completed it for the 2nd year in a row. I won't bore you with the details since they are similar to before. The main differences are that I beat last years time by 21 seconds, and that Ian stayed at my snails pace for the whole time, sacrificing what would've been a much faster ride time for himself. His company was appreciated, and I owe this finish to having someone else to ride with. Our support crew was great as always, and it was probably the most fun out of the 5 rides. More than likely I will now take a year or two off from this ride, and we are thinking of taking our talents out West for one of the rides in the mountains. But undoubtedly, I will be back in Southern Wisconsin soon enough.

As long as I got the ball rolling on cycling, let's run with that theme today. Specifically, water bottles. Behold a common example:

The example here is a podium style water bottle. All that means is that instead of having to pull the nozzle up when you want a drink and then close it when you're done, the podium style has a valve in the nozzle. All you do is squeeze and water comes out of the one-way valve and then self seals when you are done. They are great and I highly recommend them (Note to any Camelbak employee reading this: I do accept freebies. Hit me up with an email. I promise to whore out any product lovingly!).

But these and the old school style water bottles have a supposed problem. Apparently, some people find it too hard to clean the nooks and crannies, and thus mold tends to become rampant within the bottle rendering it completely unfit for use. So much so, that a company has taken action to alleviate the burden of cleaning a water bottle thoroughly. I give you the bottle of the future:



This is known as the "Clean Bottle". See that blue piece at the bottom? That unscrews, thus giving you a easy access point at the bottom to wash out all that energy juice residue that is the harbinger of diseased spores.

"But wait a second Jake", you ask, "I've never seen these new revolutionary bottles at my LBS (Local Bike Shop for all the non-cyclist)."

True that. Because they are pointless.

Cleaning a water bottle properly is no harder than cleaning a glass you drink from every day. And if you have a dishwasher, you have no excuse whatsoever. I have cleaned bottles now literally hundreds of times and I have as of yet to have any mold show up. Even when my wife leaves her bottle in her bikes cage for days on end in our hot and stuffy garage, conditions that should breed mold at rabbit like capacity, not one single spore has successfully multiplied. Here now is my foolproof method of accomplishing this.

Step 1: Acquire dish soap. I recommend the yellow stuff, cause it always smells nice.

Readers who work for Dawn soap: See comment directed at Camelbak above, just change "Camelbak" to "Dawn".

One of the gripes I've heard is that people can't seem to find a good enough cleaning agent for use in their bottles. I see their point I guess. I mean after all, dish soap is so scarce to find. The only carriers of it are Target, KMart, Walmart, Walgreens, Snyders, CVS, Super America, BP, PDQ, Holiday Stations, Gander Mountain, Cabelas, Byerly's, Rainbow, Festival, Lunds, and maybe only about 214 other stores within 5 miles of a persons dwelling. But we mustn't judge right.

Step 2: Acquire hot water. May I suggest your tap in the kitchen:

Hey! I'm washing my kid there. Wait a second, where the hell did you find dish soap?!!

 Step 3 (apparently the tricky part so read carefully): Add just a few drops of dish soap to the culprit bottle. Fill about half to 3/4 full with hot water. Put cap on bottle, tighten, and shake vigorously. After 10 seconds or so of shaking, you may proceed to step 4.

Step 4: Unscrew cap, and rinse with warm water until all soap is gone. Once again, I recommend using the tap in your kitchen for the rinsing part:



Seriously. Where did you find the dish soap?

Step 5: Lay out a towel and place your bottle upside down onto it to drain water and dry out. Even better, if you have one of those fancy drying racks for bottle (whatever "cake-eater"), use that.

You'll be able to spot people that complain about cleaning out their bottles. They're the ones with velcro shoes ("laces are haaaarrrrd"), pants sagging down ("belts are hhaaaaaarrrrddd"), and constantly insist on using paper plates when they have you over ("I've looked everywhere for dish soap and have just given up").

But kudos to the folks who came up with the "Clean Bottle" and hope to capitalize on this niche of the population. Even the truly lazy should be allowed to ride hydrated right? 

New Baby+Going to Target=Hilarity!

Isn't it amazing how much brain power you lose when you have a newborn in the house?

Oh wait. I guess it isn't that amazing. Only getting 20 minute stretches of sleep for a few weeks does a number on oneself.

And with that lack of sleep and decreased brain power, simple sentences are hard to produce.

In the first week or so Hannah was born, I was summoned to run up and get some supplies for Elli as it pertains to nursing the little one. Now, I don't consider breast pads to be along the lines of other feminine products, however I still wasn't overly comfortable with purchasing them. Don't ask me why, it's just because. Anyhow, it was a chance to get out of the house, which anyone who's ever experienced the first few weeks of new babydom, you jump on an opportunity to leave your domicile. So I loaded up Dav and away we went to Target.

I figured the item I needed would be over with the rest of the baby supplies, so we made a line for that area. However, upon getting to that section we discovered that we went at the very time they were in the middle of completely redoing that area. So stuff was patchy on the shelves and what wasn't out yet was loaded into boxes. Not wanting to experience the uncomfortable and awkward encounter that would ensue from asking an associate where the breast pads are, I set upon hunting them down myself. However, after going up and down each aisle about 6 or 7 times, I broke down and decided I needed to bite the bullet and ask. I hunted down an employee, hoping that it wasn't some younger person. But the one I found was just as bad, an older woman happily stocking more bottles on the shelves. The following is the conversation that took place, with the italicised words indicating what my brain was yelling at me while I was stammering on:

Jake: "Can I ask you for some help?"

Sales lady: "Of course, what can I help you find?"

Jake" I'm looking for..."

It is at this point my mind completely blanks out on the proper term for what I'm looking for. Not wanting to completely abandon ship and run away, I stagger on as best as I can:

Jake: "Ummm...I need, uh those things for Mom (Not YOUR mom dumbass! Dav and Hannah's mom!)...I mean, not MY mom! My daughters mom (but also Dav's mom! Make that point obvious so she doesn't think you sleep around with everything that walks and have dozens of illegitimate children), which is also {pointing at Dav} his Mom...

Sales Lady: {smiles somewhat hesitantly, probably wondering what drugs I'm on.}

Jake: "You know, those things that you put on for when {now makes universal va-va-voom gesture and quickly puts hands back down once he realizes he's gesturing boobs in front of an older lady stranger} you're feeding your baby (well she doesn't wear them while she's feeding them moron. How would the baby latch on with a pad in the way?)...I mean, not when she's feeding but when she's not..."

Sales Lady: {sensing great discomfort from me, puts hand on my shoulder and tries not to laugh too hard} "You mean breast pads. They're over here."

Brandon...

In my last post I described an incident that occurred when I ran to get some medicine to help Dav along with one of his ailments. For most people I know, this would've never happened to them, or it would've only been an isolated incident.

Sometimes it pays to live amongst the stupid.

As all kids do, Dav got sick quite a bit when he was first starting out with the whole daycare thing. As such, it seemed we were always dealing with something. Most of the time, our end tables looked kind of like this:

Once Dav's nose started running, it was going for the rest of the month, the next month, and basically lasted until August. Anyhow, it was no surprise that after he got over the illness that caused the incident I mentioned last time he came right back down with something else. So, I once again volunteered to run back up to the store for the goods. After all, something else couldn't go down could it?

(Chh chh chh, shh shh shh, ahh ahh ahh)

So I drive back up to the same store as last time. I park, get to the crosswalk, and make a mad dash for the door to get out of the cursed crosswalk as quick as possible. Once in the store, I get things going mind wise so as to not be caught off guard:

(Let's do this!)

It was a week night, and I took note that there wasn't many people to be had in the store. This time around though, I wasn't just there for the medicinal drink. I had some other items to get, so as I got into the front doors, I grabbed a shopping cart on the way by. I then set off to get the items quickly and efficiently.

All was going well. I was making my way through the rows, having most of the aisles to myself, quickly checking off the list as I got the appropriate item, and the anxiety level over last time was going down. So much so, that I didn't even take note of the loser making his way down the aisle in my direction. This isn't him, but it will give you an idea of what I saw:

(Pseudo "flock of seagulls" hair, Elton John'esque glasses, irrelevant finger point...yup, you're a tool.)

To complete the package, he had his wanna be arm candy, well, on his arm. He was doing that walk where as to say "Check me out and my lady on the arm. I am something." All the while said arm candy was yapping rather loudly on the phone. To give you an idea what she was like, I present this:

(I'm sexy in a way normal people don't understand.)

Anyway, I was paying them no mind. My shopping cart was all the way to the side of the aisle, and I was marveling at how many different choices one has now when attempting to conquer the spice rack. The couple approached and the spunky arm candy came off the arm, and proceeded to pass me first. She was uttering phrases such as "like" and "OMG!" quite frequently. Impressive since I eavesdropped on her conversation for about 4 seconds. But when poser made his way by, he made a point of deviating his line and running into my cart. I was flabbergasted. "Yet another incident is going down over a Pedialyte run?" I thought. But again, I'm not really that confrontational, but when dealing with the galactically stupid, I cannot let things slide. As I've told Elli numerous times, stupid people don't know they're stupid. It's up to people like me to inform them of their stupidness. As such, after the initial shock wore off I commenced to action with the following verbage:

"Easy friend, there's no fire here. No need to push."

At this point, Mr. "Mike 'The Situation' Sorrentino is my hero!" turns and says, "Was up!"

(Seriously, what IS up?)

I don't think of myself as imposing, however I stand close to 6'5" tall. I'm not built like a brick shit house, but I've been told I have a presence. On this particular night, I had on my Carhart stocking hat, a flannel coat, and jeans along with boots. I was tired, probably not clean shaven, and when confronted by this sort of BS, I do get confrontational.

Testosterone both gets people hurt, and hurts people.

As such, I had a popular brand of Paprika in my hand. I let it fall from my hand into the cart, turned rather slowly in poser's direction, and stared at him with everything I had.

"Excuse me?", I bellowed.

At this point arm candy returns, still talking on her phone. She seems to take stock of the situation, and makes a move. Grabbing tool bag's arm, she very directly says to him:

"Brandon. Don't. He'll kill you."

And they retreated rather hastily around the corner and down the way. I chuckled to myself, pushed the cart to checkout, paid, and went home with another story to tell.

And to think, when I was a kid I thought the grocery store was boring.

Duck and weave, and grab the Pedialyte on the way by...

Despite my persona, I'm not a confrontational person.

Really, I'm not.

When people argue, I get somewhat uncomfortable. And unless I'm really pushed, I'll keep my mouth shut for the most part. Unless my opinion is asked, then I may spew forth venom like a geyser.

But for the most part, I don't stir the pot as they say.

But sometimes, one cannot stay silent and let things past. For me, it's when dealing with the galactically stupid.

A few years ago, Daven brought home one of the many daycare acquired illnesses he has been exposed to. The whole works, including some action involving evacuation of fluids. At both ends. Being the good and loving parents we are, we took care of the little guy. And with medical knowledge to both of our credits, we know that when the little ones are expressing fluid violently, you must replace expelled fluid with some new stuff. Enter the pharmaceutical gurus:

Unfortunately, this stuff doesn't have a long shelf life once opened. 5 days if I remember correctly. As such, we don't keep a ready supply on hand. So, being the hunter and gatherer of the household, I volunteered to quickly run up to the grocery store and pick up a jug.

"How hard could that be?" you ask. Well apparently you've never gone to the grocery store over here in "The Wood" after the sun goes down.

I jump in the truck, drive to the store, park, and begin the trek into what I'm thinking will be an uneventful excursion. But as I get closer to the crosswalk, I notice headlights out of the corner of my eye. Realizing that they haven't even made the turn onto the main drag, I figure it's safe to cross.

I forgot where I was. Lack of sleep with a sick kid will alter your mental state so that common sense isn't so common. This is Maplewood, and the cup of idiots runneth over.

I'm halfway into the crosswalk when I notice the lights are now pointed at me and approaching quick. Just as I make eye contact, the car stops (about 6 feet away or so) and douchebag driver lays on the horn. Now, tired or not, I'm pretty sure the law says that one must yield to pedestrians when they are in or about to enter the crosswalk. Also, dickweed decides that the stop sign before the crosswalk does not apply to him. Regardless of all that, I'm pretty tired, pissed at the world because everyone else is sleeping through the night and not dealing with a sick child, and I'm really not in the mood to be honked at. All that in mind, something shifts in my brain, and the inner bad ass comes out:

"Bring it Bee-otch!!!"

Why a pug dog you ask? Take a look at one. Anything that stupid looking better be able to back something up.

Back to the story. There I am in the crosswalk trying to comprehend where this guy gets off honking at me when I was just trying to cross legally well before he even got anywhere near here. At this point, with the inner bad ass activated, I take action:

Unoriginal? Yup. Appropriate for the situation? What do you think? I didn't want to waste time, so I flashed him the old one finger salute. At this point, he backs up rather quickly. But if he failed to yield to a pedestrian much less stop for a stop sign, do you think he's gonna check his mirror? When he stomps on it to back up, he almost runs down another couple exiting the store. The gentleman whom almost became road kill does not seemingly have a hesitation to confront, as he ditches his bag to the ground and slams a rather angry fist on the guys trunk, all the while cursing heavily.

The jackass driver stops, and proceeds to swing open the door.

It is at this point I decide Pedialyte is not worth dying over, as it would seem the situation has reached a whole new level of volatility, and in my less than optimal mental state, the first thing that springs to mind is a shootout between the two. But as I'm weighing the options of running back to my truck or diving behind the pallet of discount chips right inside the door, a very authoritative voice pierces the chilled night air:

"Get back in your vehicle, and shut the engine off! NOW!!"

All at once, I'm aware of the blue and red lights swirling and reflecting off the windows and other cars in the parking lot. Apparently, there was a squad car parked just a few spaces down from where this was all going on, and the law enforcement officer was now making his way over to the action. I watched from the safety of the bulk buns, and after a few moments decided I needed to be on my way. I had enough drama for one night. After locating the goods, exchanging the currency for it, and walking on out, I noticed that the squad was now parked behind the idiot driver's car. The driver was conspicuously absent from behind the wheel. The good officer was writing in his ticket pad, and I stopped and asked if I needed to make a statement or something. He answered in the negative, saying that the other couple provided enough statement and unless I really wanted to make one I could be on my way. I thanked him for doing his job, and proceeded to go home.

And that was that, until the next time I needed to make a run to the store for items to deal with sickness. That's right, another situation evolved. Elli has since banned me from making sick item procurement runs.

Raisins. They suck...

Raisins suck. You may like raisins, in which you suck. Why not just eat the grape? It's so much better.

But it seems that the world is not in agreement with me on this one, because raisins continue to rear their ugly selves all over the place.

They even look bad. Ever seen a pile of mouse turds? Look familiar then?

But no place do I hate raisins more than when they ruin perfectly good dessert items. The worst offense? Dressing up like an Oatmeal Chocolate Chip cookie. We've all done this. You spy the prize sitting invitingly on a table either at work or a party:

(Ambrosia!!)

You snag one and then take what you expect will be that first big blissful bite. However the second the teeth hit what should be sweet chocolaty oatmeal lovechild combo goodness you sense something isn't right. Chocolate chips shouldn't be chewy right? All at once a chain reaction of realization goes through your brain:



Chocolate chips chewy = not right = wait a minute = not what I wanted = fruity = BAD! = RAISINS!!!

At this point it is ok to cry and then throw away the cookie. But if only it were done there. If you're like me, this unfortunate circumstance sets of the whole 7 stages of grief scenario. When I bite into what I think will be chocolaty oatmeal goodness only to have my taste buds molested by the mouse turd impersonators, my mood shifts as follows.

Shock and Denial: This cannot be. Surely the bakery made a mistake and the next bite won't have raisins.

Pain and Guilt: Why put raisins in here? WHY? I just wanted a cookie and I got this?! {sobbing}

Anger: JAKE MAD!!!!! What asshole does this?! Raisins belong in old people's pantries and little kid's lunches. NOT COOKIES!!!!

Depression: Well that's it. First this, now I'm gonna get an upset stomach, vomit, and my whole day is gonna be ruined. Why did I even take this cookie? Stuff never works out for me. {over exaggerated sigh}

Hope: You know what? I don't have to finish this abomination. I can throw it away and maybe next time it will have chocolate chips instead of raisins. Anyone else think these look like mouse turds?



Reconstruction and Working Through It: Actually, if I take the other way home, I could stop by the bakery and get the proper cookie. This day may not be completely ruined.

Acceptance: It's ok this cookie has raisins. Some people like them. Some people also like getting kicked in the nuts or having their nipples shocked. Or even both. The point is, some people are just weird, and weirdos need their cookies too. We may not agree with it, but damn it, this is America, and if people want to put things in their sweet treats that look like mouse excrement, I say do it!



Seriously though, raisins are terrible. Don't put them in cookies. Weirdos.

What? They're scary!

Few things truly terrify me. For instance:

Aliens scared the hell out of me when I was younger. And even now I'm a little uneasy outside alone when it's dark. But even if there are a few of them trying to take you to their ship, they're supposedly skinny as a bean pole and stand about 3 1/2 feet tall. Doesn't sound like something a swift kick can't take care of.

But they aren't the only scary thing around. How about these:

If you know me at all, you'll know how terrifying that was for me to search for a picture and have hundreds of them come up. Some people call them bees. I call them "winged spawns of Satan". Bees serve no purpose other than to sting. Wind, butterflies, and hummingbirds can pollinate flowers just fine. And why can't honey be produced in a level 4 containment lab where there is little to no chance of a bee escaping? I'm just saying.

And yet another thing that I find scary:

Pillsbury rolls are delicious. The buttermilk ones are heaven when coupled with sausage gravy. The crescent rolls? Orgasmic. But why, for the love of all things holy, do they have to put them in those god damn highly pressurized containers? This is one of the things I grapple with often: I want the prize inside the package, yet am terrified to open them. I'm convinced that every time I go to open these things they are gonna not pop open nicely, but completely explode and take my hand with 'em. But now having to deal with them for many moons, I have come up with a system that works relatively well.

First, I get my heart rate back down to normal using Buddhist breathing techniques. Then I peel the very first bit of the roll. If at this point I feel the slightest vibration or shifting of contents indicating explosion is imminent, I hurl the package as far as possible and dive behind the couch. If however I get that first bit undone and everything remains calm, I proceed to the next step. I hold the container at arms length and begin to shake the whole thing so that gravity starts peeling the rest of it off. Once it is completely peeled, I let it fall on the counter from a bit of a distance and jump back. Usually this results in it popping open, however sometimes it doesn't. When the latter happens, I fight back tears knowing I will have to engage in hand to hand combat with the beast. I usually opt for a weapon at this point. The preferred instrument?

That's right. A 50 lb maul. I figure it splits wood no problem and can pulverize concrete with ease, surely it can make a little paper thin cardboard package container it's bitch. However Elli always vetoes the maul since she's concerned more about her "flooring" and "counters" than my safety, so alas I must find another tool. Defeated, I return the maul and pick up a wife approved device:

Fuck off. It's the heaviest thing I'm allowed to use in this case. And it's end loaded nicely so I get incredible swing speed. So, finally armed I go on the attack. I creep up to where the ticking bomb is resting, careful not to make heavy footsteps which would cause jostling and set the package off, and in one swift motion strike from above, aiming for the seals of the exposed paper innards. At the moment of impact I close my eyes so as not to be injured by the flying debris caused by the pressure release of opening. Sometime I must strike up to 3 times, but most times only one is needed. When it does finally split open, I feel like I truly conquered something. Sadly, few other in the house appreciate my accomplishment. Elli rolls her eyes and Dav just looks and then goes back to his playing. Hannah normally has crabby time going on around dinner, so she's selfishly ignoring me anyhow.

I then have to sit down until I'm done shaking. The biscuits always taste sweeter knowing the hell I had to go through to get them.