Like everyone else who’s witnessed what’s happening in Afghanistan, I’m saddened and feel lifeless. In the hours after seeing this unfold on both the big and small screens last week, I began to feel like I got sucked into a narrow vacuum hose and stuck with no way out.
The horrors in Afghanistan notwithstanding (that sentence in-itself is wretched), what’s crushing me just as much is how people are claiming exclusive rights to their strong opinions, and name-calling those they disagree with in the aftermath of it all.
Once the war of opinions began, the war in Afghanistan became monumentally insignificant to them, though they’ll never admit this. It didn’t take long for the hate grenades to be lobbed back-and-forth across media platforms, including social media. And as usual, the insults and hate speech were lobbed without much thought.
Boom — explosion!
The insult landed. A direct hit. The damage was done. But how much damage, do you even know…? Hope you feel better now.
Insults are the weapons of discussion that people choose when their intelligence weakens. I frame it that way because most everyone has the intelligence not to use insults and hate speech. Of all the reasons I can think of not to insult somebody or belittle their opinion, chief among them is this…
That when people use the media and social media to project insults and hate speech, people who aren’t being targeted also get hit. You see, there’s collateral damage in being a dick. We’ve all heard the following cliché or something like it:
You never know what somebody else is battling, so be kind.
The damage that can be done to somebody who lives with hidden turmoil and who hides it behind a strong face, may be far greater than the person throwing the insults know. I can speak to this first-hand. An insult or abusive speech might truly be the difference in a person’s bad day, bad week, or God willing, hopefully not in their life.
Everyone has their right to expression — to throw insults, use hate speech, and to express unsolicited strong opinions. And everyone else has their tipping point. And those who throw insults blindly, regularly, and the name of feeling more intelligent or superior to another, probably have no idea whether the person they are aiming at is approaching their tipping point — or what innocent bystanders might also receive that hate grenade.
Ready. Aim. Insult…
Don’t worry about the casualties, so long as it makes you feel good.
With that in mind, I have two (rhetorical) questions for anyone who has insulted anyone else in relation to what’s happened in Afghanistan…
What, specifically, did you get out of being mean to another person…?
How does the world become a better place for your verbal malice…?
And I’m not just singling out social media warriors and water cooler prophets here. Media personalities, pundits, senators, representatives, and retired military leaders have used language on national television, radio, and the internet recent days that is inconsistent with the esteem those positions (should) warrant. And the men who hold high places…
This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb
This week by the numbers…
Bikes Ridden: 6
Miles: 157
Climbing: 6,900’
Mph Avg: 15.0
Calories: 8,900
Seat Time: 10 hours 25 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 Mari Boine. Enjoy…
Riding out of town one evening last week, I passed Club Paradise Gym. That’s where I hung out my shingle as a fitness trainer when I arrived here 20-years ago. Passing the gym, and it being Friday, I flashed back…
On an afternoon in 2001, while in-between clients at Club Paradise, a large man with gray hair, in his mid-50s, burst through the door. He slammed his checkbook on the counter and exclaimed…
“I want the oldest male trainer you have, and the one who has the broadest shoulders…!”
The hungover girl behind the counter woke long enough to point to me, who was standing beside her, before she dropped her head and fell back asleep.
As the man introduced himself, he crushed my fingers with his handshake. It was clear he was a guy who knew what he wanted. He explained that he travels quite a bit so when he’s in town he wants to workout every day.
Cool.
I told him we’d first need to review his goals, do a kinetic assessment, and discuss any limitations he might have. His eyes looked right through me as he explained he didn’t have time for that, and just wanted get a schedule set.
Not so cool.
The schedule was set, but before the conversation was complete, I felt a twinge of regret in agreeing to work with him. At that point though, anyone who wanted to workout every day would be a good client. His name was Marshall.
The feeling out process didn’t take long. Within a couple weeks I was pushing Marshall hard, he was making progress, and within a few months we actually became workout partners. We started by doing 30-minutes of daily cardio together and then, due to my tight schedule, I started jumping into his strength workouts. It was adversarial at first, but camaraderie found its way in over time. A friendship was born.
Perhaps we’d been working out together for a few months when we found ourselves unmotivated on a Friday afternoon and both of us starving. I suggested we blow off the workout and get something to eat. Marshall almost agreed, but came up with a quick workout idea first.
He suggested we go through every machine in the fitness circuit, with three-quarters of the weight stacks selected. We’d each do a single set of as many repetitions as possible on each machine, and total our reps up at the end of the workout. Whoever had the highest repetition total would be the winner.
I won.
After our quick but competitive workout, we walked across the street to a taqueria, and Marshall bought carne asada burritos for the two of us. This became a Friday ritual, which he dubbed Challenge Day. We would continue Challenge Day for the next 5-years or so. If he was in town, we’d meet at the gym, pick 6 to 8 exercises, and whoever got the fewest number of repetitions bought the burritos.
I’d love to say I won all of the time — I was 10-years younger and a lot stronger, but Marshall was a self-made man and hated to lose at anything. There were times when he’d find ways to get more out of an exercise than me through sheer will and spite.
Marshall relocated from Fallbrook around the same time I began rotating through a series of commercial spaces, and it became prohibitive for our workout partnership to continue. Eventually he began splitting time between California and Argentina where he had a business interest, and I became so full of my own nonsense that we lost touch.
It would take me a few years, only after we parted ways, for me to realize what an important relationship that was in my life. Marshall took me to NASCAR races in Fontana, concerts in Del Mar, theater in LA, and some local rodeos. In the years we worked out together I learned much about business from him a portion of my success came from advice he gave me along the way.
The best lessons Marshall ever taught me though, were about fatherhood, and at a time when I need it to learn them. For the entire time we worked out together, when he handed me a check each month, the notation on the memo was Chelsea’s College Fund (Chelsea being my daughter). When he’d hand me the check he’d always say “this isn’t for you…“ It was a reminder I should be thinking about my daughter first in how I spend my money.
One of the best aspects of my job as a fitness trainer is the relationships I’ve cultivated along the way. I haven’t seen Marshall in a decade now, but the lessons he taught me are still with me each day — and I’ll go so far as to say, if we hadn’t crossed paths, I don’t know that I would’ve been as successful at business or at fatherhood.
This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb
This week by the numbers…
Bikes Ridden: 5
Miles: 201
Climbing: 7,100’
Mph Avg: 15.4
Calories: 11,500
Seat Time: 12 hours 58 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 Stranglers — an ode to keyboardist Dave Greenfield who passed away one year ago this month. Enjoy…!
It was a spectacular week of riding in San Diego’s North County. Back-to-back pacific storms passed through last week in typical spring fashion. The broken skies that came with these storms highlighted the beauty of the area in ways a solo blue sky just can’t. I rode six out of seven days last week, with rain making just one day too prohibitive to ride.
I was reminded last week of a travel tenet that’s proven true my entire life. As I age, and as I look for more meaning from simpler things, I’m coming to appreciate that this rule of travel is just as relevant even when I’m not far from home…
The best and most enduring moments, when I reflect back on any of my travels, have been just taking in the view.
As I rolled past acres of freshly turned soil waiting for tomatoes to be planted, as I saw snow covered mountains with citrus orchards and avocado groves in the foreground, and as I saw skies of blue highlighted by clouds of black, gray, and white, I thought about my late client and friend, Otis.
Otis was as well traveled a man as I’ve known. He had lived in South America early in his life, set foot on every continent except Antarctica, and could discuss the history, politics, and geography of any region in the world, with locals and travelers alike. Sometime around 2012, Otis took a 3-week cruise through some of Pacific islands. When he returned, I asked him what he enjoyed most about his trip. His response took me by surprise…
“The fact that I never left the ship…”
Wait, what…? A three-week Polynesian cruise and he never left the boat…?
Otis explained that he spent his sea days reading, occasionally looking up at horizon and taking in the magnificence of the ocean. When his ship was in port, rather go ashore and do touristy excursions — that were generally crowded and exhausting, he stayed behind to sit on the veranda of his cabin, still reading and intermittently looking up at the magnificence of the surrounding landscape — and all the people scurrying on the streets below.
“Each port of call was like a different television channel…“ he told me, “or like a painting of a different landscape…“
Hearing Otis describe his enjoyment of just sitting, taking in the view, and being entertained by the activities below, got me thinking about my own travels.
Just a few weeks after that conversation with Otis, I found myself on a ferry from Athens to the island of Mykonos — a 5 hour journey, stopping at a half-dozen lesser islands along the way. That remains one of the best days of my life, though I never left the boat. I just sat on the deck of the ferry, all day long, with my feet dangling over the side, taking in the view. The beauty of the Aegean sea and the aesthetics of the many islands we passed along the way were all the entertainment I would need. I was in Greece for three weeks, visited many of the more popular archaeological sites, and a handful of the lesser ones, yet what I remember most are the views from the ferry that day.
I’m not a globetrotter, but I’ve had the privilege of visiting all 50 states, some very pretty places, and a few foreign lands. When I think about any of my travels though, the moments which stand out to me most aren’t the things I’ve done — the buildings I’ve visited (ancient or modern), the foods I’ve eaten, or the even people I’ve met along the way.
When I think back on any of my travels, my fondest and most enduring memories are the many views I’ve been blessed to enjoy. Views of lakes, hills, rivers, deserts, coast lines, and so-on, remain as memory shots, etched in my mind forever. Pick a vehicle — train, jet, ship, car, or bus, and I’ll be perfectly content just staring out the window. There may be something waiting for me at the destination, but I’ll remember the view the most.
Of course travel is all about experiencing different cultures, languages, foods and entertainment, and I’ve certainly done all of that. However, the view from the hotel room, from the restaurant patio, or from the ridge overlooking the canyon or the horizon, is what has captivated me most, often stopping me in my tracks and sending chills down my spine.
And from this rolling perch I get to ride each day, I get exercise, mental clarity, and even burn some calories. The best part though — the best part of riding a bike is the view. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. And my own front porch…? That view ain’t too bad either.
This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb
This week by the numbers…
Bikes Ridden: 6
Miles: 161
Climbing: 7’300’
Mph Avg: 15.0
Calories: 9,200
Seat Time: 10 hours 45 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 Dave Graney ‘n’ The Coral Snakes. Enjoy…!
Jesus Christ
Mohammed
Zoroaster
Confucius
The Buddha
Moses
Fonzie
Wait, what…? Yeah, Fonzie.
Despite the influence that all these prophets would have at different times in my life, there’s one that has contributed to my day-to-day more than the others.
In 1974 I was in middle school. That was the year that Happy Days premiered on ABC.
As an awkward pre-adolescent, with few friends, a father that traveled, and a mother that worked swing shift, much of my life was spent in my own little world. The thing about living in my own little world was this; I didn’t get out much except to be picked on, beat up, or completely ignored by my contemporaries, which can hurt just as much as a beating at the bus stop.
Up to that point my only savior was The Six-Million Dollar Man, Steve Austin. Looking up to and emulating Steve Austin though, came with its own set of baggage. For example, Austin wore leisure suits, the trend in men’s fashion at the time. To be more like him, since I lacked bionic parts, I wore leisure suits to middle school thinking I would be cool. Let the bus stop beatings begin. The leisure suits didn’t last long.
Enter Arthur Herbert Fonzerelli.
I like the night life, Baby…
I received my first leather jacket as a Hanukkah gift the same winter that Happy Days began its 2nd season. In the first season, you may remember, Fonzie wore a cloth jacket. He still made it look cool, but it wasn’t leather. His leather jacket though, in the 2nd season, put him on the top rung on the ladder of cool. My new leather jacket was my first evolutionary step in the long process of becoming cool — or cooler than a guy wearing a leisure suit in the 8th grade.
The evolution would be slow.
Something I recognized from the get-go though, was that when I wore my leather jacket to school, people treated me differently — better. I might not have been the coolest guy in school, not by any stretch, but there was something about that jacket that gave me a currency which provided entrée into places, situations, and with people I had not previously had access.
This was also around the time I began lifting weights. And though it would take years for physique to fully develop, my biceps grew almost immediately. This served me well, because when the summer came and the leather jacket became too hot, having well formed arms underneath those sleeves was another aspect of cool.
I would not add another arrow into my quiver of cool for nearly a decade. That’s when I joined the United States Coast Guard. Being in the military is one of those things can seem very cool to some people and not cool at all to others. But there’s something different about the Coast Guard. The mission of the Coast Guard being so unique, gives it a cool that the other armed forces don’t experience.
Around this time, my physique did start to develop beyond just my biceps, so I had the fact that I was in the Coast Guard, I was fairly well-built, and that I could make a Coast Guard uniform look as cool as a leather jacket going for me. After all, a good physique is what made those leisure suits work for Steve Austin.
Buy my estimation at this point, I was about 50% up the ladder of cool.
However, my cool would flatline for the next decade or so, as it should have. This was the period when I got married, began working adult jobs, and started a family. But there was this one thing…
A fortunate twist of fate was that after I left the Coast Guard, I was hired as a security guard for America West Airlines in Phoenix. America West was just starting out and wanted their security guards to be corporate employees, not outsourced. From that position, it didn’t take me long to work my way into an analyst position in the pilot planning department. This was in the late 1980s, when working for an airline made you cool by default. I continued up the ladder.
Though my career path in aviation wouldn’t last long, having the title of Scheduling Analyst and the pay that came with it gave me confidence in the working world. My recreational bodybuilding gave me confidence in everything else.
Confidence = cool.
Something significant happened as a result of this increased confidence — I began to share my sense of humor more. My father and brother cultivated a good sense of humor in me while I was growing up, but I didn’t share it too often for my lack of confidence. As I began to let it out though, people talked to me more and let me in a little closer. As cool as having an airplane job, big biceps, and broad shoulders might have made me, being funny took me up a couple of more rungs.
Even cool people struggle, and by the time I was in my 40s, I was divorced, somewhat broken, but not altogether defeated. Time to grow my hair. Straight up, guys with long hair may or may not be cool, but when guys have muscle and long hair, it’s a slam-dunk. Conan, Tarzan, and Chicago Bears defensive tackle, Steve McMichael were all cool.
Milestone: This bike, Vasudeva, went over the 10,000 mile mark with me this week…
And since my hair was long and I had a decent physique, this was a time I could get away with wearing a lot of bracelets, torn pink tank-tops, and going barefoot everywhere I went.
What..? Is that the top of the latter I’m reaching for…?
It was roughly 2006 when the social media began to unfold. It was important to me, from the beginning, to stay unique. Though I have participated in my share of sophomoric hijinks in social media, for the most part the things that I have shared have been as unique and original I could have them be. Few things are more cool than being original and unique.
And all of this brings me to riding a bike — bikes actually, since I currently own six. My biking is something that I do daily, and in all conditions — rain, shine, or tonsillitis. And though I don’t ride expensive bikes, my bikes are cool, mostly because I keep them clean and decorate them with colorful water bottles. When I stop at the ocean, next to a pasture, or in front of a vineyard to take pictures of my bikes, people often complement them, and very often those complements include the word cool.
If it sounds lofty, arrogant, or like I’m high on my own grandeur to refer to myself as cool, forgive me. But I do think I’m pretty cool and that’s no accident. My coolness has been by design and has served me well.
I’m not an Ivy League scholar, I can’t do math in my head, I don’t have much money, and I don’t speak Portuguese. Despite these, I’m regularly granted access to people, places, and situations that a guy in a leisure suit might never find.
People give me the time of day because they perceive me as being cool, and whether you realize it or not, cool is a form of currency. At times it can be as valuable as intelligence, scholarly achievements, occupational status, and many of the things we use to value human worth. Cool has gotten me into places that a PhD never would.
Spring has sprung in SoCal…
Make no mistake, cool is not who I am. Cool is how I portray myself. Cool is a shell, no different than a Porsche 356, an Armani suit, or shiny white teeth veneers. Cool gets me through the door, but what keeps me there is appreciating that I ever got there at all. And I hope I do that better than anything else — to show appreciation that I’ve been accepted into nearly every room, every situation, and with every person I have ever connected.
Since I put on that first leather jacket towards the end of my 8th grade year, I have recognized the power of cool. And I owe all of this to Arthur Fonzerelli.
This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb
This Week By The Numbers…
Bikes Ridden: 3
151 miles
8,200’ climbing
16.6 mph avg
Night rides: 3, for 75 miles
10,200 calories
9 hours 4 minutes in the saddle
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 is this from Jackson Browne. Enjoy…!
The Spoke And Word™ 