Fun With Macro

A Black Past

If you leave this story with nothing else, remember this: I was once a much worse person than I am today.

I’m the oldest of three kids in my family. We’re each separated by about four years. While I certainly fulfilled the role of big brother as dominator, I rarely took it upon myself to lead. I think that my brother Jordan, four years my junior, truly felt the full force of this in his left nostril one day in Wisconsin when my parents had trustingly left me in charge of the house.

My relationship with my brother oftentimes went the course of “I wonder what would happen if _____ happened to someone?” and I often took advantage of my familial superiority to see these wonderings through to action. They usually started with something like, “Jordan, we should try this,” which was met with initial hesitation, returned with general big-brother badgering from me, and usually his submission in the end.

This was around the time that we’d moved to the States from Germany, and many things that every American kid grows up with were still new and amazing to me. Super Soakers for example. I think I’d seen ads on our one American TV station in Germany for them, and of course my little mind was easily molded by advertising into thinking they were the coolest thing since…..ever. So I had a Super Soaker at this point. Not one of the industrial, dislodge a small child from the pool with the blast models, but it would get you wet. For some reason, I enjoyed pressurizing the canister with air while the gun had no water in it, and just shooting streams of air much more than water. I can remember being mesmerized by watching the skin on my hand and arm dimple under the force of a pencil thin tube of air.

The question was burning a hole in me: what would it look like if “one” were to discharge an air stream up “another’s” nose? I imagined cartoon sound effects and general hilarity.

“Jordan, let’s try this. It won’t hurt or anything, it’ll probably just look really really funny. Your nose will get huge and then go back to normal.”

He wasn’t too keen on the idea at first, but I eventually made a convincing case. It didn’t seem to matter to him that he wouldn’t get to see the hilarious results, just experience them. I probably also did something underhanded like pump the gun once or twice then shoot off a puny shot of air with something like “See? How could that hurt?”

I gave the water gun a healthy priming and set the nozzle against his upper lip pointing nasalward.

“Ready?”

He wasn’t, and I knew it, but he gave a slight nod of the head.

I was right about one thing, his nose did burst out to a larger size than it’s ever been. As I pulled the trigger, his eyes widened in direct proportion to his nostril, as if the air going into his nose was bulging them open and outward. After about a second he screamed. Of course it hurt. I can’t believe that I even considered it not hurting.

My first reaction was “Ssssshh! Ssssshhh! It’s ok it’s ok sssshhh!!” I didn’t want to be found out, and the way he was yelling there was a good chance most of the neighborhood would come knock down the door.

I came clean when the folks got home, and I still wonder if I would’ve had Jordan not been in blinding pain. If I’d done something equally stupid, but only involving me with no way of being found out, I wonder if I would have said anything. Jordan, I really am sorry.

Moshots

There are a few pictures from the Motown bash up on flickr. I'm helpless with flash, so I've artsyed some of them up to make them mo-interesting.

Let's Talk About Those Timely Blessings

When we’re told to walk by Faith and not by Sight, it seems that the common interpretation can be visually expressed by a man (full of faith) gathering up his courage and leaping into an abyss. Think Indiana Jones.

What this seems to suggest is that we only look to Faith when our Sight says “uh oh.” By then it’s not much of a decision, is it? The option to even walk by Sight is taken away, and so, we think, ‘I’ll walk by Faith now I guess.’ But there have been times when my Sight has been looking at something good, like a full suspension bridge across the abyss. Then we think it’s a no brainer, take the bridge. But what if Faith is saying something different? How much harder is it to listen to Faith when Sight is treating you so well?

That relates more to my biking adventures this year than it does to what I’m talking about here, which is God’s timing in blessing and grace. Take the past week for example. All things considered, possibly one of the most troubling, trying weeks of my life, though I just want to focus on one of the issues tonight.

On Tuesday, I may have lost my job at the farm for reasons unknown to me. Aside from being a huge financial blessing, it’s a great place to work with great people. But it really is my bread and butter when it comes to paying the bills. The pay is better than anything else I’ve heard of in Moscow, and the hours are flexible. With the summer coming up and me heading to Colorado in three short weeks until August, this isn’t as big of a deal as it would have been in the middle or beginning of the semester.
Timely Blessing #1.

But bills still need to be paid, and I’m looking at about a month without working. About a week before I received my termination letter, my landlords the Birks had asked me if I had any extra time to help do some landscaping at their house for their daughter’s wedding. I said that I really didn’t have the time between two other jobs and school, but that I could come once and maybe find some other people to help them out. I asked a few friends if they could help out, but, like me, everyone’s busy this time of year. I really wanted to help with this, but I couldn’t skip work at the farm and no one else was available. Then I got the letter, and suddenly I had three days a week open to work. They’re paying me $8/hr. Timely Blessing #2

On Thursday I met with Josh Gibbs to chat, and mentioned as we were parting ways this whole situation. He responded with “Oh, my mother in law is looking for some help with some yard work. And she’ll pay you $10/hr." Timely Blessing #3

On Saturday I was working at the Birk’s and spoke with Judy, who owns our house with her husband Tim who wasn’t in town with her. After some small talk about how school was going and how the house was holding up (they always like to joke with me about the fire of ’04), she told me that since Tim usually came over and cleaned all the leaves off of the roof and out of the gutter, that she’d knock $50 off of rent for me if I did it. Timely Blessing #4.

In what I’ve seen in my own life lately, it isn’t so much of leap of Faith, as it is a plodding away, doing what’s right and walking by Faith when those hairy spots interrupt. I don’t typically go looking for places to test my Faith. I usually have plenty of opportunities every day.

On the timeliness of Grace, it tends to come when it’s needed, and not before. This is what I think of when I hear walk by Faith not by Sight. It’s more of a worry-net. When things look bad to the Sight, Faith is there to assure you that Grace is there.

Therefore, being always of good courage, and knowing that while we are at home in the body we are absent from the Lord – for we walk by faith, not by sight – we are of good courage, I say, and prefer rather to be absent from the body and to be at home with the Lord.

II Corinthians 5:6-8

Action Shots

Posted a few pictures from the St. Andy's rugby game this afternoon. Larson let me know if you want the full size of any of them.

Reminder

Guys Bible study on Micah at Bucer's. Wednesday, 1:30. If you can bring some outside references or commentary on the book, that'd be great but come regardless.

If I can make it I'll be a bit late, my 1:30 class that I've been skipping has the nerve to give me a test tomorrow.

Suspicians Confirmed

We were visited tonight by a prominent author of young adult fiction named Chris Crutcher in my Lit for Adolescents class. On the topic of censorship he had this to say:

"Words don't do damage. They're arbitrary."

Bikes Part II

Alright, so the main problem I had with my racing last year was the fact that I made it so important. I was pretty excited about the idea of crossing the finish line in spandexed glory for five weeks. While there were most likely some pride issues going on, I think that God brought me down (literally) to focus my attention on more important matters.

With that in mind, I decided to approach this year heavy on the recreational side and light on the obsessive. I was on my bike five or six times all semester, then a few more as our first race came up. Just enough to wake my legs up and not be miserable in the races.

More importantly, I’d made a much more concerted effort to maintain dialogue with my sister, and keep up to date with her. It was funny, most times that the thought of riding my bike came into my head, it was quickly tailed with “When was the last time you talked to Christa?” Through painful road rash I’d been conditioned to associate bettering myself on the bike with neglect to a relationship.

So our first race this year was again in Corvallis, Oregon. The Kerns of Eugene were gracious enough to open their home to me and fill my belly for the weekend. I drove the eight hours there on Friday night, crashed (haha), and left early Saturday morning for the 9:05 road race in Corvallis. I left with plenty of time to spare, so I wasn’t too worried when traffic started slowing on I-5. I got a little more worried when it stopped. I sat for a good half hour before we started inching forward again to come upon a semi that had slid sideways across all three lanes of northbound traffic. And not just the lanes, but the shoulders as well. Both of them. We had to creep past the truck in the mud of the median in a single line one car at a time.

Once past the wreck at up to highway speed, I wasn’t too worried about making the race. I’d left enough of a cushion to still make it on time. Unfortunately, in all the hubbub with the accident, I missed my exit. And with no map to tell me I’d gone too far, drove almost all the way back to Portland before realizing something was up.

Now not only did I miss the race, but I was bringing a teammate’s bike with me from Moscow. And I had all of the team’s spare wheels, and yes, one guy had a flat tire and couldn’t finish. So three of us were not scoring points because of me. This was my first thought when I realized I wasn’t going to make it. What happened next was interesting, and hard to describe. I was definitely in a funk. Not a frustrated, angry, or necessarily sad funk, but a feeling more like “I should’ve known better than to try this racing thing again.” I can’t draw the direct connection that I could last year, that racing was taking me away from something else I should have been doing. But I was nonetheless consumed with a guilty feeling as I made my way back from the outskirts of Portland toward Corvallis.

I’ve heard a lot in Doug’s sermons lately about “God as an author,” and it’s really had me thinking about why we notice and are focused on certain things over others. The long and short of it is that I feel God brings things to your attention for a reason, that the fact that I immediately felt wrong about racing was God’s nudging. Even if I don’t understand why as clearly as I did last year, the feeling was very similar, even amplified. Not only did I feel that racing was bad news, but the funk part of it was that I felt that I should have known. That’s really interesting to me, because even now I only have a hunch as to what biking could possibly have been taking the place of. Even if there never is a life-changing revelation that comes from this time, I know I was saved from burying myself financially and academically. Every time I opted out of a race weekend, I would realize within a few hours that there was so much that I needed to do in that time that I may not even get it done being here in town. I wasn’t altogether comfortable with the leadership on the team this year, and had my doubts about getting gas money and entry fees reimbursed, which would have ruined me.

There isn’t an obvious good deed left undone because of my cycling. I didn’t stay home one weekend and save a baby carriage from rolling into traffic at the same time my race was starting in another state. Wouldn’t that have been cool? I’m thankful in the end though that I didn’t have this feeling, look around and not see anything immediate to take care of, and shrug it off.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye

Community Happenin's:

I. Tonight (Thursday) at 7:00, the strictly unbiased group "NoSuperWalMart" is sponsoring the film "Is Wal-Mart Good for America?" It's FREE and there will be a panel discussion with open mic questions following. Please come.

II. Wednesdays at Bucer's, guys Bible study, room in front of the smoke room. We've gone through Jonah the past three meetings, and we're moving on to Micah. If you're so inclined, look up and bring some outside references/commentary on the book. The more the merrier (people and references.) Current cast includes Josh Gibbs, Nate Wolff, Asher Weinbaum, Matt Dau, Nick Heid (sp?), Jordan Wilkins, Josh Hatcher, and more!

III. This Friday through Sunday at the Kenworthy, sweet looking French flick called Cache. Mystery suspense, and Frenchness! Friday at 7, Saturday and Sunday 4:10 and 7. Check out the trailer here.

IV. This Sunday, April 23, Jason Webley is playing at the 1912 Center at 7:00. Accordian playing merriment. I haven't seen him but I've heard from many people who have that his shows are amazing. I'll be there if I don't go to Montana for a (gasp) bike race (It's more of a sightseeing jaunt, really.)

V. Sunday May 7th, our house, Substantial BBQ '07. After you've practiced your Mo-Groove the previous weekend at Susanna's bash, get ready to do the Standing Still in our front lawn. Just kidding, you can dance, and to the swingin' sounds of the Shaun Daniel Band at that. There will also be an outdoor movie when the sun goes down, so suggestions for that are welcome. If you're reading this, you're invited. Nate and Hannah, would you guys be interested in playing a bit as well? Email, call or post here with questions.

Das ist alles, tschuss!

Holiday Humor

I scooted into the Co-op with about five minutes till close. Cafe Mam's Mocho Blend coffee (beans) and an apple were all I needed and that's what I brought up to the only open register.

While scanning: "So what's up tonight."
Me: Not too much, glad I got in before you guys closed.

Smiles.

Me: Are you a coffee fan?
Nods.
Me: Have you tried this? The mocho blend?
She hadn't.
Me: Best coffee I've found anywhere, you should give it a whirl.

Cashier: Do you know that your total is $6.66?
I had noticed and I told her so.
"And it's Easter," I added, flaring my eyes wide in mock horror. She found it hilARious.

Since I Can't Write....

I've taken some pictures. A few more from Vancouver, some from the farm. I'll work on Part II a bit tonight.

Long, Rambling, Overly Detailed on Cycling: Part I

I’ve been asked lately how the bike season is going. Every time I hear the question I have to consider how much this person knows about my experience last year, and how much they’d want to hear. The short answer is that it’s not going well at all. The long answer is everything that follows.

January of last year I started riding my bike for the 2005 collegiate season. I rode a lot. Eight to ten hours a week. I couldn’t have asked for better conditions, if you were around the greater Moscow area you’ll recall a two week stint of 65-70 degree weather in February that I took every advantage of. I almost always rode alone, as my schedule was pretty hectic with two jobs and full time school and rarely had the foresight to plan group rides. I also liked being alone for two, three, or four hours at a time.

By the time our first race rolled around I was easily in the best sport-specific shape I’ve ever been in. I’d raced my first year as a ‘C’, the lowest category and was starting off in the ‘Bs’ this year. My first season had been cut a bit short the last time I’d raced in Oregon when I put a pedal down too early on a turn and slid myself down the pavement at about 25mph. Now I was back, this time in Corvallis and with hours upon hours of work put into my legs.

The race started in a gentle drizzle. As we took off from the start I worked my way into the front third of the peloton. About three miles in there was a small hill, maybe ¾ mile long. Hills are a blessing to someone as metabolically blessed/cursed as myself, so I stood up out of the saddle and pulled off the front just to see what would happen. With minimal effort I was pulling away, so I sat back down and let the pack envelop me as we crested the hill. As we came to the second climb I did the same thing, but didn’t let up at the top. I instead dropped a few gears and smoked down the backside at about 80%. As we flattened out near the bottom, the pack came back around me. I felt like I had this in the bag. I felt that physically I was in good enough shape to be competitive in the As this year, and after winning this race, I’d bump up to the category. Guys around me were shaky on the hills and struggling to catch back on to the little attacks that were going on. I settled into a comfortable position about three or four people from the lead.

I was hugging the shoulder line with four riders to my left, as well as people in front and behind me. We were in a straight, flat section of the course. Imagine the least likely place for a wreck to occur. That’s where the guy on the median to my left went down. I could see the commotion in my peripheral vision, then watched as bikes dominoed over right into me. With the gravel shoulder on my right, a bike in front and a bike in back of me, and an OSU Beaver crashing into my left, I didn’t have many options of escape. I got knocked by the crash, then once the four racers to my left were down I was able to try and regain control by squirting up and to the left where I promptly ran into the guy in front of me. It happened very quickly, but I think that I ended up with my front wheel rubbing against his chain-stay and me leaning into him. This only lasted a split second before something caught and I ended up over my bars and rolling down the road. Thankfully we weren’t cooking along too quickly so I was able to roll back on my feet with my momentum and grab my bike. My chain had dropped off of the front rings and I spent about a minute trying to get it back on as the pack sprinted away. When I finally got it in working order, I hopped on and tried to catch back on. They were out of sight by now, but I was hopeful.

Here’s the best part: I came to a T-intersection with a roadside volunteer who was supposed to be pointing us in the right direction of the course. I was pointed in the wrong direction. I rode about twenty miles off course as the wind and rain started picking up. When I happened upon I-5, I knew something was amiss. I turned back around, and noticed how absolutely frozen I was. Riding in the wind while wet will do it. I also realized that I had no idea where I was. Even if I were to ask someone for directions, all I knew was that we were parked in a big empty lot in the middle of nowhere. So I rode, backtracking as best I could, and thankfully came back to our car where I (slowly and with numb claw-hands) peeled off my wet garb and put on every piece of dry clothing that I owned. A few hours later I was warm enough to put my wet jersey back on for the team time trial. I opted out of the criterium on Sunday. Physical damage from the wreck: Minimal.

The next week found us in Seattle. Typically our road races are the first event, but this week we started with the team time trial. The As were down a rider and asked if I would ride with them and I agreed. We weren’t out to break any records, just get some points for the team. Travis and Charlie took off with me sucking their wheels. In the first mile, the road drops down a hill and turns to the right. Unknown to me, as I was gazing at Charlie’s wheel and butt, the U. of Oregon team had just crashed two minutes earlier on the corner. One of their riders was standing on the far side of the road telling us to slow down and watch for gravel. I didn’t hear this and by now had my arms in the aerobars on my bike, which don’t have brakes attached. Imagine the three of us in a straight line. Travis, Charlie, me. Travis sees and hears the warning, and slows. Charlie, sees Travis slow down, and pulls out of line to the left as he slows. Me, looking down, with my hands gripping something that can’t stop me, creep right up to Travis’s wheel with Charlie to my left as we hit the corner. I reached for my brake with my right hand, but it only twitched my bike a few inches left, right into Charlie. This time, we went down at about 35. I clearly remember having a very calm sense of “I can’t believe this is happening” as my right forearm dug into the chipseal. We slid, rolled, and bounced for a bit, and got up as Travis rolled up to us after turning around. Physical damage: Substantial. We hauled ourselves over to the ER for some stitches and Hydrocodone prescriptions.

As I was having my arms and legs picked clean of gravel I started to think about this bike racing deal. I started thinking about how much time I’d put into this. How many hours I’d spent sitting on a tiny bike seat, alone, moving myself around Washington and Idaho. For what? Even if I’d been winning these races, I was beginning to see this as something extremely selfish. Everything I’d put into this “hobby” was self-serving. It was to make me look good. I couldn’t honestly say that anything I’d done on my bike had benefited anyone but me. And it actually wasn’t doing me too many favors so far. Hmmm.

Our next race was in Bozeman, Montana. I’d done this race the year before and was looking forward to it. It ended on a three mile climb, 1100 feet gained. It was my best shot at winning a race that year. I was excited.

I was also feeling a lot of tension about it. The thoughts from the previous week had been rolling around in my head and building a tiny fort of doubt.

Now understand this: I’m a terrible criterium rider. This is because I’m scrawny, and a retired runner. My mentality on a bike is similar to how one runs; steady. Pick your pace, stick to it to the end. Crits are nothing like running. Road racing in general is nothing like running, but crits especially. Good crit riders are typically your beefy dudes, with legs the size of couches, to use the classical reference. I’ve always gotten smoked in them, but I was hoping to maybe be able to at least hang on with all my training this year. The crit was the first event on Saturday, and as usual, I got owned. Started near the back from the get go and only fell back until I was totally alone, then pulled out. No big deal, road race tomorrow.

More tension that night and the next morning. Can’t shake the feeling that I’ve wasted my time this semester on something selfish. The drive to the start of the road race was a good hour. I spent the majority of it asking God for some clear sign about what I should be doing with the cycling thing. We got there, unloaded bikes and started warming up. As I took my bike down the road I felt a clicking/knocking in what I thought was my crankset, which was a new addition to the Trek. This was its maiden voyage. I asked Charlie to take it out to see what he thought. As he pulled back up he said “I didn’t feel what you’re talkin’ about, but what’s up with your left shifter?” I didn’t know what he was talking about. He proceeded to show me how my front shifter was seized up and I was therefore stuck in one chainring up front. We took it apart and dumped about a quart of lube into the thing to no avail. There would be no shifting between big and small rings for the Trek. Given the nature of the course, with a huge hill and all, I was out of the race. That seemed to be a pretty clear answer. I told the team that I was done for the year.

You may be asking what else I could’ve been doing besides riding my bike. Plenty, I think. Over Christmas break of that year I found that my sister wasn’t saved after a quick talk with her. Our relationship is another topic that I could (and should) spend a lot of time on, but for now it’s enough to say that I failed as a big brother while I lived at home and now had a chance to repair some of that. Instead, I rode my bike.

Similar situation with my brother, as far as me not living up to my role as a brother. I’d been trying to establish more of a relationship with him as well, but bike riding went on.

There are a few other things that I may have been neglecting, some of which I talked a bit about in my Shakespeare paper last semester, but my brother and sister were definitely on the front burners.

So that’s the backdrop for this season. I’ll try to have it up this week, and hopefully it will be edited and smoother than this.

Doom

What if you saw this on your front porch late one night?

A Few Thoughts From the Road

Road bike that is...no this isn't the post I promised about the evils of my bike, but that's coming...

I was riding my bike back from Troy on Highway 8 this afternoon. The shoulder is virtually non-existent this time of year, covered with the gravel that's been on the road all winter. Although even when I'm riding the white line, there's still plenty of room for cars to be passing me going both directions.

I was about 75 yards from where I'd be making a left turn, so I glanced over my left shoulder to check traffic behind me. One car about 150 yards back. No one in sight up ahead in the opposite lane. I swung my bike across both lanes and ended up near the left shoulder to make my turn. About 10 seconds later a black Mercury, the car I'd seen behind me, passed in the right lane. And he blared his horn as he passed. Not the friendly two-honk of "Hey how's it goin?" or "I approve of your activity," but the long, sustained, "I'm pissed at YOU, Matt Gaither."

This reminded me of something I've noticed this year. What are horns in cars for? If you asked a Ford or Toyota employee they'd probably say something like "To let someone know they're in danger," or something to the effect of preventing an accident. I disagree. Far and away, the most common use of horns that I've seen has been to express one's annoyance with something that's already happened. It has the frivolous use of getting your buddy's attention, or like the honk I didn't get, a friendly hello to a stranger. But when do we get honked at most? After we’ve been cut off. After someone turns into our lane without signaling. After the guy in front of us stops short. The horn is just there to say “I AM ANNOYED WITH YOU” in one single bleat.

You may be asking: Have you ever been in an accident or seen one? Or seen one avoided by a horn’s use? I’ve seen two since I’ve been in Moscow. The first was pretty awful. It was early in the morning and I was on my bike heading towards the intersection of 6^th and Jackson from campus. When I was about 20 yards from the crossing, a minivan heading towards me collided with a loaded semi moving about 40 miles an hour. The truck continued through to the other side unaffected while the minivan spun around almost 400 degrees. Turns out that the sun was rising just behind the stoplights and the woman in the van didn’t see the red. No horns.

A few months ago I was riding my bike up 3^rd St. near the old Co-op as a station wagon inched its way out of the parking lot, trying to make a left turn. They were quickly caught in the middle of the lane, perpendicular to traffic, stopped by cars heading the opposite direction. I knew there was a car behind me and to my left, and sure enough it passed me, locked up its brakes and slid right into these people. Again, no warning horn.

It seems like horns are just there as a release valve to regulate people’s frustration on the road. When faced with a possibility of actual danger, we’re too focused on avoiding the danger to think about tapping the middle of our steering wheel. I think about this every time I’ve had a near miss in my own car. I actually specifically think about how I didn’t think to use my horn. It was the furthest thing from my mind.

So I say, do away with the things. That’s right, this is my proposal to remove car horns from our world. Anything that gives us another outlet to be spiteful to one another I can do without, thank you very much. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me it’s the condition of the heart that’s the problem, and that people will just find another way to express their anger without their horns. That’s fine, but until we shape up, let’s at least keep it quiet.

Think of Me, Think of Me Fondly....

This guy would like to ask for your prayers this weekend. He has yet to finish a road race in the great state of Oregon without leaving a bit of skin behind. He's just riding for fun this year and doesn't expect to break any land-speed records, but he'd appreciate your prayers for safety. I mean look at him, he needs all the help he can get.

Color