Photography – The Spoke And Word™

October 10, 2021October 10, 2021 Jhciacb

Ed’s Last Flight…

Shortly before heading out the other day, I read that Ed Beauvais had passed away. He was 84. Beauvais was a giant in the aviation industry, and was a member of the Aviation Hall of Fame.

Beauvais was best known as the founder and CEO of America West Airlines. Prior to that, he had an extensive career as an aviation executive and consultant with Frontier Airlines (the original incarnation), Western Airlines, and Continental Airlines. However, in the 1980s and early 90s, Beauvais put Phoenix on the aviation map.

I was fortunate to work for America West in the early days. I was hired as a security guard when the company had just 900 employees. Within a few years, the company grew to nearly 10,000. Because of that phenomenal growth, I was able to coax my way into an analyst position in the Pilot Planning department, despite my lack of experience, and I remained there for the next couple of years. My analyst gig was my first adult job after leaving the Coast Guard, and changed my life in many ways. But back to Ed…

The thing I remember most about Ed Beauvais, and something I still think of often, is that he was a people’s CEO — in the same way Tommy Lasorda was a player’s coach in major league baseball.

Every other Tuesday, unless he was legitimately unable to do it, Ed worked a 6-hour shift throwing bags on the ramp at Sky Harbor Airport. He wore the burgundy coveralls that all America West ramp employees wore. He wore steel toed boots. He wore ear protection. He threw bags. He rolled up his sleeves. He even ate crappy chicken salad sandwiches out of cellophane wrappers. And he kept up with the best of them.

A part of my job was to run pilot scheduling information from my office to the ramp a couple times each day. Occasionally I’d see Ed cutting it up in the break room with other ramp employees. I might also see him standing under a 757 offloading bags and covered in sweat.

Ed was the most passionate person I’ve ever known in a business environment, and was relentlessly positive. I have few memories of seeing him without a smile on his face. Ed was a visionary. He started the first in-house travel agency of a major airline — Ameriwest Vacations. He also created the concept of fully cross-trained and cross-utilized CSR (all ground personnel). As he used to say…

“There are only CSRs…”

Ticket agent

Baggage handler

Gate agent

Flight attendant

Reservation agent

There were no specialists. Every person hired in at that level was cross-trained in all of those positions, and therefore could be utilized at any of them. People could bid their seniority — a senior employee who wanted to work in-flight could do that, but they had to take at least one rotation off per quarter and work a different job. The thing America West was most known for, was also Ed’s idea… free cocktails on all flights. No wonder America West took over Phoenix in just a few years.

Ed Beauvais personally signed off on me, a low-level analyst with no aviation degree, to help start a crew-base in Honolulu, in preparation for regular service to Nagoya Japan. Shortly after I returned from that assignment, I left America West to return to Colorado. It was a bittersweet departure, because America West was the first corporate family I’d ever had — and Ed Beauvais was the patriarch.

There’s a handful of business leaders who influenced my early adult life. Ed Beauvais is at the top of that list.

There’s something else though, something I couldn’t find in any of the obituaries and articles I read about him after he passed, but I can speak to it personally…

Ed Beauvais told a joke to somebody every day of his life — or at least he did during my time at America West. He believed that humor in the workplace was a gateway to better morale, and to this day, I believe that to be true. To underscore Beauvais’ sense of humor I’ll throw one more at you before I close this…

My partner in the Pilot Planning department and I spent so much time there during a particularly difficult phase, that we actually pitched a tent in the middle of the office — as a comical protest. We even hung out there in our downtime. One morning Beauvais walked past the tent, and without slowing or looking down, he dropped a paper bag at the tent door. It was a bag of marshmallows, some graham crackers, and a few Hershey bars — for making s’mores.

Ed Beauvais got his final pair of wings this week. If he’s as true to his form in heaven as he was on earth, I’m certain he’ll try and start an airline there.

This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 7

Miles: 175

Climbing: 7,900’

Mph Avg: 15.1

Calories: 9,900

Seat Time: 11 hours 33 minutes

Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along with me today. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like and a share. If not, just keep scrollin’. Oh, and there’s this from The Bellrays. Enjoy…

August 1, 2021 Jhciacb

That Six Minutes…

I grew up in the 1960s and 1970s. Between Vietnam, Kent state, and Watergate, my television didn’t have much good to offer each evening. Sure, there were the Apollo missions every-so-often, and Fractured Fairytales on Saturday mornings, but during the dinner hour, television was our household conduit to the fearful and foreboding atmosphere of the day.

Every four years though, dad would relinquish the large round knob on the upper right-hand corner of the Admiral television set in our living room, and let my brother and I watch as much Olympic coverage as we wanted. That was the golden age of the Summer Olympics.

To this day, when people speak of Mexico City, Munich, or Montreal, before I think of anything else, I think of the summer games. I think of John Carlos, Tommie Smith, Mark Spitz, Dave Wottle, Steve Prefontaine, Olga Korbut, Bruce Jenner, and Ray Leonard, among many others. Those were just a handful of people who made the summer games of that era iconic.

When I watched the Olympics, there was no Vietnam, there were no race riots, and Nixon was an afterthought. Those were the first times I remember escaping reality through sports. Even during the tragedy in Munich, the world seemed to unite, if only for a moment, and the games went on.

Between 1968 and 1976 I was certain I was going to be an Olympian. I tried my hand at everything — boxing, diving, swimming, and I even set up a decathlon course in my backyard, minus the polevault. And of course, I tried my hand at Olympic style weightlifting. I sucked at every sport and have continued to suck at every athletic endeavor I’ve ever attempted. The only thing I came close to being good at was 3-meter springboard diving, but I gave that up to pursue the weight room — which I also sucked at and still do.

It was the Olympics though, that got me interested in athleticism. It was also the Olympics that introduced me to people to cheer for — my first heroes, if you will. I had their pictures on my wall, I tried to emulate them, I cheered for them when they won, and I cried when they lost. Watching the Summer Olympics was transformative.

And then politics set in, 1980 and 1984 — the two summer Olympiads that will be forever remembered as being incomplete. That was the first of what would be many disconnects between me and the Summer Olympics, and I’ll suggest, for millions of others also.

The games would recover and continue on in exotic places like Seoul, Barcelona, Sydney, and Athens. They had an allure to them, but the magic of the Summer Olympics I knew in my youth had faded. In-part, that was probably due to having to make a living, marriage, fatherhood, and all the adult responsibilities that go with all of those.

Today, the Olympics bring about thoughts of television marketshare, product endorsements, performance-enhancing drugs, gender roles, and the multitude of electronic platforms available to watch them on. It all seems too complicated for me — like too much work is involved in both watching and enjoying them.

Before I began writing this, I sat in my dark living room, pre-dawn, sipping coffee and watching the highlight of a 17-year-old girl from Alaska touch the wall before any other swimmer in the pool. Lydia Jacoby had won the gold medal in the 100-meter breaststroke. Tears fell from my cheek to my tongue and I sucked snot like a toddler — and it was only a replay. I’m glad I was alone.

My connection to the Olympics may not be what it was when I was 6 or 10 or 14 years old. But I was reminded this morning of the value of distraction and the need for inspiration. The world can still be a fearful and foreboding place, and I’m grateful to have been drawn in, if only for a while.

“It’s not the 6-minutes. It’s what happens in that 6-minutes…”

This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 6

Miles: 193

Climbing: 7,800’

Mph Avg: 15.1

Calories: 11,000

Seat Time: 12 hours 41 minutes

April 18, 2021April 18, 2021 Jhciacb

Bang Bang Bang…

Our love of guns began when the first Indian fell backwards, as we worked our way west to exploit every possible resource and take possession of all lands. And if those resources or those lands became threatened, we depended on guns to assure our possession of them — because we valued the resources and lands more than the humanity which was already a part of them.

And in the decades and centuries to follow, as we asserted our providence over all which lay before us, we became culturally inseparable from our guns and the idea that killing is an acceptable aspect of progress.

Guns became costars in the American story. First in books, then radio, movies, television, and subsequently in every aspect of popular culture. No American story is complete without guns and killing, even if we have to peel back the layers to find them. Behind every innocent story there’s a gun or a killing waiting to break through and be seen.

Guns are in our dreams, our toys, our games, and and even in our fantasies. Killing, as a way out of an unwanted circumstance, is part of our cultural DNA. Don’t like where something is headed…? Kill whatever’s in the way. We even use guns against our own bad days — 52% of suicides come with bullet holes.

This isn’t going to end anytime soon because we accept it with open arms. As soon as were done complaining and sending thoughts and prayers, we binge watch the next violent television series, with liberty in killing for all. We do far too little — almost nothing to discourage our children from the enjoyment of killing and guns as a form of entertainment.

As long as our mass shootings remain in the single digits, double digits, and triple digits, we’re going to be cool with it. Want to get America to pay attention to our acceptance of killing culture…? It’ll take thousands of people going down in just a few seconds. Even then, the so-called conservatives in Congress would defend every aspect of gun and killing culture. Forgetting, of course, that the word conservative comes from conserve — to use sparingly, to act sparingly, to allow sparingly.

I’m certainly not the first person to point any of this out. This is the first time though, I’ve been willing to share my deepest feelings on what’s going on.

Gun culture and killing will be part of the American story so long as we, the authors, keep writing it. We cling to guns and killing, above all, because they were the midwife to our birth.

This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

Post Script:

I’ve been sitting with these thoughts for a while — keeping them to myself for fear of offending friends and associates.

In December 1993, my wife, my three-year-old daughter, and I had lunch at a Chuck E. Cheese in Aurora Colorado. The following evening a man entered the building and shot four people, all employees. Though the killings took place was after hours, I had been in that room with my three-year-old the day before.

Six years later I was in San Diego, looking to purchase a house. My wife and then nine-year-old daughter stayed behind in Littleton Colorado — home of Columbine High School, to pack up and sell our home there. I was driving down Interstate-8 in San Diego when the announcer on NPR broke the story of the Columbine shooting. I was shaking and crying so uncontrollably, I had to pull off to the side of the road and gather my emotions before calling home.

Last month in Boulder Colorado, in the King Soopers grocery store where 10 people were shot and killed, I knew people who were in there that day. That was my community once upon a time.

I’ve trained with guns for military and law enforcement purposes. I grew up with BB guns, learned to shoot .22s in Boy Scouts, and qualified on several pieces during my time in the military.

My statement above is more about the fact that, in popular culture, historic and contemporary, guns, killing, and entertainment are intertwined. The influence of guns and killing in popular culture has contributed to the increase of mass shootings, beyond any doubt, and has been studied and documented for decades.

I don’t see guns as being evil. I would like to see gun use and safety taught at the high school level, and students given PE credit for the class. Put a real gun in the hands of a 14-year-old, and he or she is far more likely to respect its power than somebody who’s 23 and holding one for the very first time.

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 7

Miles: 186

Climbing: 8,400’

Mph Avg: 15.4

Calories: 10,620

Seat Time: 12 hours 13 minutes

April 4, 2021 Jhciacb

Sidekick…

It feels a little more selfish each day. He’s nearly 18-years old now. He spends most days within 20-feet of me. That I willingly leave him for two hours, to go ride a bike, says a lot about my selfishness. It gets harder, but I still do it.

I should have named him, Sidekick. In hindsight, that seems so obvious. Our relationship resembles two guys in a ‘buddy’ movie. I’m De Niro and he’s Charles Groton. I’m Felix and he’s Oscar. I’m Bill and he’s Ted. We just play off each other like that.

Our relationship might seem adversarial to outsiders, and at times it is. With no warning, he’ll jump from the sofa, run to the refrigerator, stand fixed looking back at me. His eyes say…

“I want ham and I want it now…“

Our relationship is largely based on animal protein.

I respond by reminding him he just ate two hours ago, he’ll eat again in two more hours, and he’s not getting any ham…!

His gaze gets more intense. It only takes a minute before I cave.

I’ll begrudgingly stomp to the refrigerator muttering expletives under my breath. I reluctantly tear a few small pieces from a slice of ham and leave it on the empty plate beside his water dish. Despite the expletives and my poor attitude, he knows I love him more than anything.

He’s walked off-leash since the beginning. He stays within 10-feet of me, even when we have the park to ourselves. I can tell when a scent has him by the nose — he wants to run, but he won’t. I can almost feel the smell pulling him away from me, and equally feel his determination to stay by my side.

Go, I tell him, go…!

As soon as I say it, he runs toward the hole where the scent draws him. It’s always a gopher hole. Excited, he guards the hole and waits for me to catch up. I tell him he did a good job and complement his professionalism. With no gopher to be found though, I tell him there’s another scent up ahead and it’s his job to find it. As we walk, I thank him for not being one of those undisciplined leash dogs.

Back in the car and preparing to head home, I see a little schmutz on his face…

How many times I gotta tell you, I say, NO SCHMUTZ…!

He looks unapologetic, but slightly nervous. I remove the schmutz with one of many Jack-In-The-Box napkins on the floor of my car. Every time this happens, he snaps at me. The good news is, he doesn’t have any teeth. Once he’s schmutz-free, he forgives me by kissing me on the nose.

On the way back from the park, he rides on my lap with this front paws on the door and his face looking out the window. We listen to NPR and discuss whatever Lakshmi Singh is talking about. He’s particularly concerned about voting laws these days. Don’t laugh, some things you just know.

Like all dogs, he has magnetic tips on the ends of his ears and on all four paws. These enable him to find the geographic center of the bed each night. He can only sleep if he’s lined up evenly between the four corners. As I bend my way around him in a loose attempt to sleep comfortably myself, I call him a chucklehead and an ingrate. He gives me the dreaded look of whoa, and refuses to budge.

I thank him for another day, ask God to bless him and keep him through the night, and I turn off the light. He snaps at me one more time as I pet him on the head — to remind me who the alpha dog is. No teeth, just gums. Just gums.

Later today I’ll leave him again for another two hours while I ride a stupid bike. He’ll be in good hands, but knowing we’re on borrowed time, it gets harder each day. No matter what, I will always believe he deserves better than me.

This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 7

Miles: 200

Climbing: 7,800’

Mph Avg: 15.4

Calories: 11,500

Seat Time: 13 hours 02 minutes

March 28, 2021 Jhciacb

My Time Machine And The Sloppy Mosaic In My Head…

This is my 116th post since I began this page in December 2018. Twenty-eight months in, I still ride a bike every day, spend most of my seat time thinking about everything from my childhood to the day after tomorrow, and each evening, I still sit down and write about those thoughts.

Riding a bike is like being on a time machine. Each day I get to revisit different periods from my life and relive conversations and experiences from as far back as I can remember. Along the way, I reconnect with a variety of accomplices and have another view to landscapes and backdrops from my past.

The time machine goes forward too, just not as often. I imagine what my life might be like the day after tomorrow, the week after next, or in 2062 — should I make it into triple-digits. I contemplate things that might consume me well into my future. It’s chasing memories though, where my time machine does its best work.

The pattern in which those memories show up is completely random. The whole process sets up like a mosaic of memories, sloppily crafted by the drunkards in my head. I get to steer the bike, but memories drive the time machine, and they each steer a course of their own.

And it’s not just memories and thoughts of the future that consume me when I ride. Thoughts of the moment weave their way in-between all the other thoughts as they flicker in flash. All the usual suspects show up — politics, social issues, religion, existential doom, business concerns, financial matters, family issues, etc.

As chaotic as that might seem, all that thinking is therapeutic. It’s a big part of why I ride each day. When I sit down each evening though, to write about my thoughts from the ride, it becomes noisy — sometimes painfully so. Perhaps this is because I’m trying to recall so many things at once, or because I’m trying to create structure from thoughts that have no real order. I dunno, but it hurts when I write.

I’ll never get sick of riding, I find value in all the thinking, but I’m beginning to get a little sick of my own voice each night as I attempt to sort things out and form them into something to be shared. I confess, it often wears me down.

I’m not tapping out and have no intention of shutting this page down. This just something I’ve been thinking about lately, on and off the bike — and this seems like the best place to share that.

Anyway, this is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 7

Miles: 195

Climbing: 8,100’

Mph Avg: 15.0

Calories: 11,044

Seat Time: 12 hours 57 minutes

March 21, 2021 Jhciacb

Lunch Lady Man…

Some thoughts enter my head and exit without leaving a mark. A thought may come and go so quickly, I only know it was there, but never really know what it was.

Others thoughts grasp my attention for a moment, but exit before I can make sense of them. I might recognize them as something of interest, but it’s a straight shot in one ear and out the other. Gone before I can even make out their form.

Then, there are those thoughts which stick around for a while, sometimes for days, weeks, or longer. Those are the thoughts that show up most when I’m riding. They may appear and disappear as I ride, depending on the volume of other thoughts on a given day, but they identify themselves clearly and I dwell on them. More that that in a minute…

At least part of my riding time is about planning the most immediate things I need to take care of once I get off my bike. Chief among those needs, is making sure my mom gets a prompt and healthy dinner. Well, prompt anyway.

Mom doesn’t have a big appetite these days. Because of that, I don’t really cook. I prepare simple meals for her or heat up already prepared foods I buy at the market. Most evenings, regardless of what I serve, she eats roughly 30% of what I feed her. Her tastebuds are fading. Salt and pepper are often more important than what’s beneath them.

Among the most common meals I feed her are, not necessarily in order…

– Grilled cheese sandwich

– Hotdog

– Pizza

– Chicken noodle soup

– Cheese on toast

– Tomato soup

– Quesadilla

– Peanut butter on crackers

Okay, so those wouldn’t be headliners on the menu of your local organic restaurant. Hell, any one of them could be the ‘early bird’ special at Coco’s. I make sure though, each of those entrées is accompanied by a side-dish of mixed vegetables, canned or fresh fruit, and a single square of Hershey’s chocolate for dessert.

Speaking to Trudy the other night, I mentioned that mom‘s dinner that evening would be a grilled cheese sandwich — with peas in butter on the side. The night before, I explained, was chicken noodle soup with mashed potatoes. She paused for a second and said…

“My God, Roy, you feed her lunch lady food…“

We laughed. I guess deep down I’ve known that for a while, but hearing Trudy frame it that way, well, that’s one of those thoughts that’s going to stick with me for a while — Roy “Lunch Lady” Cohen.

I had no defense for her comment because it’s was true as it was funny. The only things missing from my kitchen life are the hairnet, plastic gloves, flabby arms, and the wart on my left cheek.

I’ve spent most of my adult life teaching healthy exercise and proper eating habits to people of all ages. I ask every client, prior to each session, what their last meal was and what they had for dinner the night before. Not as a form of judgment, but it promotes dialogue about healthy eating in support of their exercise. My own mother though…? She gets lunch lady food.

By the way, Wednesdays are mac & cheese days here at the Contemplative Fitness kitchen for seniors — mixed vegetables on the side, and the canned peaches are to die for.p

This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 6

Miles: 166

Climbing: 6,800’

Mph Avg: 15.0

Calories: 9,400

Seat Time: 11 hours 05 minutes

February 21, 2021February 21, 2021 Jhciacb

One Thought At A Time, But Not For Long…

A client, who also reads this each week, called me out recently on my frequent use of the term, my chaotic mind. She suggested the term is an exaggeration and that I come across as anything but chaotic. Uhm, nope. I just hide it well.

It’s hard to explain the way thoughts crowd my head. I can be thinking about a half-dozen things simultaneously — each thought separate and distinct from the others. One thought though, has to take priority at a given moment, but the others still make noise and use their sense of urgency to push the thought I’m most focused on out of the way.

As soon as a new thought reaches the front of my mind, the others posture to take its place too, and so it goes, all day long. So whenever I talk about my chaotic mind, that’s what I’m referring to. It’s just a bunch of thoughts, on a crowded stage, each wanting to be the center of attention, but with just one podium.

If the thoughts battling for centerstage are good thoughts, then it’s chaotic, but not necessarily overwhelming. These could be thoughts of business, recreation, family or friends, good memories, or my even day-to-day responsibilities. Chaos, in those instances, isn’t intimidating nor does it lessen my mood. In fact, juggling between a number of positive thoughts can be mood enhancing, even if chaotic.

However, if the thoughts I’m juggling are born of regret, guilt, selfishness or any combination of those, my mind is not only chaotic, but it’s also sad and depressing. These might be thought of divorce, financial concerns, lack of sleep, sick or dying friends, and on-and-on.

It’s rare for all of my thoughts to be purely positive or purely depressing at any moment. Most of the time it’s an evenly divided field. I might be looking forward to a bicycle ride later in the day, but I might also be thinking about mistakes I’ve made as a father, husband, or businessman. In that sense, my highs and lows can often be momentary. Going from pure joy to sadness and back again isn’t a fun way to go through a day — or life.

Each day when I ride, the lesser thoughts seem to fall away. My mind stays crowded, but the thoughts are mostly positive, even if they’re fighting for a just one position in front. If I ride long enough, every good thought gets its turn at the head of the line, if only for a while.

Within an hour or so, after I’m done riding, the lesser thoughts return to the stage and their posturing for attention resumes — and the highs and lows of everyday life return, and I do my best to hide it. So yes, Virginia, there is a chaotic mind. A smiling face and a good attitude are my best forms of cover.

This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 7

Miles: 191

Climbing: 7,800’

Mph Avg: 15.6

Calories: 11,000

Seat Time: 12 hours 12 minutes

February 14, 2021 Jhciacb

Feed It With Colors And Good Intentions…

If you’re reading this then you’re a part of the only generation of human beings who will ever live to have experienced life before and after the advent of social media. That’s not just a unique position the history of mankind, it’s also a unique responsibility.

The ability to interact and communicate with so many people, so quickly, and over such a distances is a miraculous technology — on par with the invention of the wheel and the domestication of fire. I’m awed by that, every day of my life. We live in an amazing age.

It’s only in how we use this technology though, that will define its place in our species’ history. We, the first generation to use what will be used by every generation subsequent to ours, must set the tone. I’ve argued for as long as I’ve been a participant, that most people who use social media could be using it better and should be using it for higher purposes.

The use I see of social media is often tantamount to imbeciles playing with matches. Inevitably most everyone burns their fingers. And all too often, someone burns down the house or even their community. It should go without saying that if one doesn’t play with matches, they won’t get burned nor start an unwanted fire.

Negativity only breeds more negativity, and escalation of negativity on social media is a spark to a handful of straw.

I know many people reading this who claim they don’t use social media — and actually believe that. Blogging is a form of social media. Whether you’re the writer or the reader of a blog, you’re a participant in social media. If one checks or makes reviews on Yelp, hunts for bargains on eBay or Craigslist, uses apps like NextDoor, WhatsApp, or even participates in email or texting groups, then they also use a form social media. Sharing photos via a smartphone with friends or family in distant places is a form of social media.

I’m a fan of the technology, but not always of how it’s used. Of course I say the same about religion, government, and capitalism. I do my best to use it with good intentions. I’ve never been much of a leader, but I wish more people would follow my lead on this one.

We must use the technology of social media better.

In all of this, I’ve included some smartphone pictures I took last week. I’ll take more again next week and share them here. And I’ll probably include another opinion about one thing or another, and hope I’ve done it with the best of intentions.

Lastly, I’ll remind anyone reading this that what makes one a good craftsman, a good statesman, or a good human is understanding the possibilities, the risks, and the limits of one’s tools and technologies.

This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 7

Miles: 192

Climbing: 7,100’

Mph Avg: 16.0

Calories: 11,100

Seat Time: 12 hours 05 minutes

January 3, 2021January 3, 2021 Jhciacb

Painting With Words…

I’ve been chewing lately on creativity — of where mine fits into my life and what get lost when I over-prioritize it. Something I’m coming to terms with is that my creative impulses increasingly consume me.

I have this compulsion to write, though the story is never primary. However compelling or impactful a thought might be, it’s secondary to forging it into something larger. Choosing and arranging the words to grow the story is what fulfills me. I enjoy selecting words and placing them into a story like a painter might place colors onto a canvas.

A little more of this — a little less of that. I might rearrange a sentence a half-dozen times before I get it just right. I’ll place a paragraph higher or lower in the story, depending on how it all unfolds. I never know if a word, a sentence, or a paragraph will make it into the end product — until there is an end product. As choppy as all of that sounds, there’s usually a flow to it.

Writing, much of the time, is like swimming the breaststroke in warm calm water — its a gentle pleasure. Other times, it can be like swimming the backstroke upstream with one arm tied behind my back and a tennis ball stuck in my mouth. That usually means I’m trying to force something though, and it’s time to step away. Most writing sessions are more breaststroke than upstream backstroke.

Turning little thoughts into bigger stories is always on my mind. It’s gotten to where I don’t seek or enjoy simple amusement anymore. Writing itself has become my primary form of entertainment.

I do make time for television in the form of online lectures, interviews, and documentaries, but I interrupt them frequently to pick up my phone and dictate. It might be an idea for something new, a change I wish to make to an essay in the works, or just a phrase that strikes me from nowhere that I want to store and save for later. I often wonder if this is healthy.

It seems like I should be able to enjoy a movie or go for a walk without needing to work through a thought and speak it into my phone. When I walk my dog, I write. When I drive, I write. When I watch television, I write. When I lay in bed, I write. The only time I don’t write, in the physical sense, is when I’m on my bike, and then I’m writing up a storm in my head, in hopes I can remember it to be written down later.

I’ve never been someone who needs to document and expand on every thought that crosses my mind — just the ones that matter. Seems lately though, more of my thoughts do matter. Or maybe that’s just my rationalization to justify me painting with words — every chance I get.

This blog is a journal — a place where my thoughts can be stored, shared, and resurrected long after I’m gone. It’s a digital headstone stating that, in my mind, I was here and that I mattered.

This quote caught my eye recently, by Seth Godin…

“Even if no one but you reads it, the blog you write each day is the blog you need the most. It’s a compass and a mirror, a chance to put a stake in the ground and refine your thoughts…”

The creator gods were working hard the day I read that in Seth’s column. Just a few hours earlier I had renewed my domain name and my web host for two more years. I guess I’ll just keep writing, and see if anything comes of it.

This is what I think about when I ride…Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 7

Miles: 191

Climbing: 7,900’

Mph Avg: 14.8

Calories: 10,873

Seat Time: 12 hours 56 minutes

January 1, 2021 Jhciacb

20 + 20 For 2020…

I’ve been told that I’m long-winded. Verbose. I use a lot of words. I say too much. I over write. I can’t even write my name in less than 360 words. I never met a superlative I didn’t use immediately. I’m only happy when I’m heard. Totally.

That said, I’m going to leave words behind this week, and share my 20 favorite pictures from the trail in 2020, along with my 20 favorite bike pictures from 2020. I want to start the New Year with a big thank you to everyone who has supported this platform. Words can’t express…

My 20 favorite pictures from the trail…

My 20 favorite bicycle pictures…

To all who have supported this, thank you…! May 2021 find you riding toward your own adventures, regardless of your vehicle.

You are who I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along with me this year. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like and a share. If not, just keep scrollin’. Oh, and there’s this from Eskimo Joe. Enjoy…