The Reviews Are In

I am "a funny man."

No kidding. I'm so proud!

This report from two-year-old Grace, daughter of good friends and my favorite toddler I'm not related to (though I hope Carla and I qualify as a non-related aunt/uncle pairing.) And everyone knows that toddlers tell the (sometimes too-honest) truth. Grace is one of those kids that makes me feel just fine with the decision not to have kids of our own. When I see cool people like our friends making smart, well-adjusted tykes like her, I figure the gene pool will do just fine without any little mutants I might have produced.

Carla won the coveted "favorite person" award. I suspect it's because she bribes the judge with hand-knitted toys and clothes.

So, other bloggers, you may have more readers than me, and you may get more comments than me, and maybe your ads get more click-throughs and generate more income than mine, but who cares?

Grace says I am a funny man. Neener neener neener.

Happy Bionic Birthday To Me

I was doped on morphine and Valium at the time, but this is how I like to imagine the conversation among my doctors exactly two years ago today:

Jason Nunemaker. Bicyclist. A man barely alive.
Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology.
We have the capability to build the world's first bionic man.
Jason Nunemaker will be that man.
We can make him better than he was before.
Better.
Stronger.
Faster.

(Cue iconic trumpet theme here.)

Okay, so I'm not stronger or faster... but when I ride, it does sound like this.

Go Steve Go!

That's Local Steve F, a.k.a. Former Neighbor Steve, who is probably kneeling on the deck right about now, tying on his kamikaze headband and lubing up his Karate Monkey (which sounds really dirty, come to think of it) in preparation for this year's Trans Iowa Race.

If you don't know the TI, it crosses our great state on a network of gravel roads in two short days. No sag stops, no support cars, just a bunch of nutjobs out there making the pedals go around and around and around all by their lonesome. Think of it as the Great Divide Race without all the pesky mountains or RAGBRAI on steroids and Red Bull. It's been rainy all week, so those fine, well-maintained Iowa gravel roads should be a bog of tire-sucking, drivetrain-eating quicksand by now. Farmers around here often find the helmets of DNF Trans Iowa racers floating on the spot where rider and bike went under.

So, dear reader, bop on over to Zen Biking and clang your electronic cowbell in support as ol' Steve sets off on the adventure. I'm decidedly anti-Twitter (don't get me started), but I'll actually be watching for his tweets (which sounds dirty again, sorry) as he hits the checkpoints. It's the virtual equivalent of running alongside the race in a devil costume -- and Steve, if you actually see me running alongside you in a devil costume, you've been on the bike too long and need some sleep.

People You Meet On A Trail In Iowa

Let me preface by saying that I am NOT a people person. Sure, my job entails "taking the specifications from the customers to the engineers," but I was raised in out in the country where the nearest kid my own age (save for my little sister) was about a mile of gravel road away. Social interaction and small talk is a chore for me -- I sort of know how normal people converse, and I can fake it, but it takes some effort. How I wound up married is one of the greater mysteries of my life, as most women are put off by my system of pre-verbal grunts and rudimentary sign language. I can only assume my wife is some kind of Jane Goodall wannabe.

As a result, I tend to keep my cycling pretty solitary. I like going out there alone, getting lost in my own head, and relying on whatever's in my saddlebag should something go wrong. On the off chance that I'm faster than someone else on the trail, I can manage an "on your left", and if (okay, when) someone's faster than me, I can grunt something resembling a greeting. I don't usually go further than that, but if I do, I try to make it a policy to say something nice about the other person's bike, because a) bikes are one thing I can talk about with some level of coherence, and b) I firmly believe that everyone should think their bike is cool.

Some days, that policy of "compliment the bike" can get rough. After the twentieth identical Trek goes by, you start to run out of things to say. "Nice... um.... skewers?"

Today, not so much.

I was taking a break at the turnaround point of my ride when an older chap pulled up on a bike that looked pretty ordinary out of the corner of my eye... silver road frame, modern components, whatever. I gave the obligatory "how's it going?" and took a better look. That's when I saw the Vanilla logo on the downtube.

Me: (double take) "Wow, nice bike!"

Him: "Oh, thanks. My son-in-law made it for me."

Me: (triple take with cartoon "ahominahominahomina" sound effect) "Your son-in-law is Sacha White?" (Before you ask, yes, bloggers DO speak in hyperlinks. It's very awkward, what with all the "a href" tags.)

Him: "Yep, he married my daughter."

Me, in internal monologue: Could you please adopt me so I can have an incredibly talented framebuilder as a brother-in-law?

So I'm in the middle of nowhere in Central Iowa chatting (as best as I can) with Sacha White's father-in-law. Go figure. I gave the bike a more detailed ogling and definitely saw the trademark Vanilla stuff... fancy V cutouts in the dropouts, a stunning flat-crown fork with tiny integrated Vanilla logos, and some seriously elegant lugwork set off with just a hint of yellow detailing to match the decals. I know Vanilla has a reputation for some pretty over-the-top show bikes with a lot of bling, but this frame really showed Sacha White's eye for classic, understated beauty. It certainly wasn't a vanilla Vanilla, but nothing jumped out as a "hey, look at me!" detail. It just all fit together. Plus, its owner described it as amazingly comfortable, "perfect for an old guy."

After we went our separate ways, I couldn't help but imagine an entirely fictionalized version of the conversation that led up to that marriage: "So, youing man, you say you'd like to marry my daughter?"

"Yes sir."

"And you say that you build bicycle frames?"

"Yes sir."

"I'm not sure how I feel about that. After all, how much does a framebuilder make, anyway? How do I know you'll be able to take care of my daughter?"

"I thought you might wonder about that, so to show you what I can do, I made this for you." (Pulls out the amazing silver frame)

"Welcome to the family, son!"

To his credit, he was very complimentary toward my giant Jandd saddlebag, even going so far as to ask where he could get one like it, so I rolled away from the encounter feeling like my bike was cool too.

Even if it was just a "nice... um... skewers" moment.