Ride six was supposed to be an easy 25 mile recovery ride, but by the time I arrived at the start it had morphed into a regular 43 miler with a healthy dose of climbing. I felt depleted mid-ride because I didn’t eat a 43 mile breakfast and I didn’t pack three hours of nutrition in my jersey pocket.
But I managed. Running on fumes meant few pictures. Like the (dis)United States in 2026, I’m a shell of my former self. One more ride tomorrow. Sunday it’s going to rain and Monday is travel home day.
I am very lucky to be healthy and to have the friends, time, and resources to have made this trip possible.
Again, feeling special.This poor calf was just a little different, but that was no reason for the other cows to ostracize her.Which way?Looking like a giant, feeling less like one.
Today, Greg, Alex, Tom, and I rode a hell of a long ways to get coffee at a coffee/bicycle shop. Which, in September, is only open on the weekends.
“Gonna see a guy about a cow” became code for “I’m going to take a nature break.” Which is cycling parlance for “I need to whizz.” Which is a crass way of saying, “I am going to dismount in order to urinate.” Since we’re on the subject, get a load of this.
So, it’s okay to pee in the urinal if you bend from the waist a little. And it’s a-okay to levitate slightly about the toilet seat. And to pee into the toilet as long as you lead with your mid-section. What is NOT okay, is squatting on the rim of the toilet. For heaven’s sake, if you feel compelled to squat, put the seat down first. Yes, the length and difficulty of today’s ride could be effecting me. Here are the deets I know you’re dying for.
I couldn’t have found a nicer group of fifty-somethings to beat on me. Really, a spectacular day on the bike. Brilliant roads, more Belgium countryside goodness, and air conditioning with sunshine, blue skies, and temps around 60. One particular stretch, a straight smooth gentle downhill that cut through a heavily wooded forest was as good as it gets.
At the midpoint, Alex and I tried to rebound from the coffee/bike shop being closed by splitting a pizza. Which he washed down with two fahncy coffees. Eating five pieces of pizza mid-ride may not have been the best decision I’ve made today.
So says British Airlines. Dammit BA, what did I ever do to you? I was hoping to have started including you dear reader in my Belgium cycling adventure by now, but major baggage feck ups have delayed that. It started in Seattle when someone apparently sent 85 people’s baggage to arrivals instead of departures.
First world problems of course. I am coming to you from a warm apartment, drinking coffee, and I have quality company, so I will be A-okay. I even have my bike, contact lenses, and a change of clothes since two of my three delayed bags arrived yesterday.
Still missing . . . cycling kits, all bike tools and other accessories, among other things, so I will be the only no show at today’s shakeout ride. The loneliness epidemic.
I do have lots of reading material. Yesterday, I read a long New Yorker article about the kidnapping crisis in Nigeria. Kinda put my British Airway “problem” in perspective. Long story short, it’s mostly in the Northern Muslim part of the country and it’s fueled by economic desperation which is a fancy phrase for poverty. Nigerian police don’t have anywhere near the resources to fight kidnapping and it is working in the sense that most people pay ransoms. Brutal numbers, stories, scenario more generally, with hardly any hope for improvement any time soon.
Meanwhile, I wait for my expensive cycling kits, computer, radar, etc. And you wait to come along for the ride. Boohoo for you, boohoo for me.
Alternative title, “Felony Allegations to Ponder”.
From ESPN:
“Cornerback Terrion Arnold, who was released by the Detroit Lions earlier this summer after being charged with multiple felonies, plans to sign with the Seahawks, sources told ESPN’s Adam Schefter and NFL Network’s Ian Rapoport on Thursday.
The deal will be for one year, sources told Rapoport.
Arnold, 23, is facing eight felony charges stemming from a kidnapping and robbery in Tampa, Florida, in February. He was arrested in Hillsborough County in June after turning himself in and was released the following week by the Lions, who drafted him in the first round in 2024.
. . . Arnold is accused of orchestrating the kidnapping and beating of three men who prosecutors believe he wrongly suspected of stealing $100,000 in cash from him, along with luxury watches and bags.
Arnold has pleaded not guilty, and, through his representatives, he has denied the allegations. He is facing four counts of kidnapping and four counts of armed robbery, which carry a potential sentence of life in prison.”
Normally, I’m pretty chill. Just don’t survey me, or drive into me in downtown Olympia, or call me Slip twenty plus years after one fall and hella athletic recovery on wet grass.
Oh and one more thing. If you’re going to build a lap pool make it 25 or 50 yards or even better 25 or 50 meters. Don’t make it slightly less than any of these four standards unless you want me to turn completely chilly.
Today I found myself at the Skamania Lodge in Stevenson, WA. First things first, check out the pool and fitness center. Decent pool, but looks a little short. Pace it off, 23 golf steps times 3 feet equals 69 feet. Let’s call it 70. FIVE FEET SHORT of the bare minimum! Code Red! Blood pressure check!
Trying to contain my rage, I double check with the attendant, a middle aged woman who has no idea who she’s dealing with. “Do you know how long the pool is?” I inquire. “Yeah,” looking at her desktop computer for help, “60 feet? 64 feet?” Looking more intently at her monitor, she says more confidently, “It’s 84 degrees.” Which, of course, is too warm, but I digress.
There should be a severe penalty for anyone involved with building short pools. No trial by jury. Just me issuing a final judgement. Something less than life in prison, but not by much.
Slate notes that Erling Haaland, the Striking Viking, is having hella fun while on a Scandinavian run of a lifetime.
“The Norway national team striker scored two goals to send soccer royalty Brazil home. After the game, he’s chuckling to himself, telling reporters that even he’s surprised he won that game. Haaland has spent most of this World Cup looking like two completely different people. On the field, he is still the ‘Striking Viking,’ a terrifying 6-foot-4 goal machine who runs at defenders like a marauding berserker. Off the pitch, he’s posting selfies with Shrek, trying on a Southern accent, and generally behaving less like one of the most accomplished athletes on Earth than a very tall guy having the best summer of his life.”
And then this.
“There’s a clip of him in Dallas trying on a cowboy hat and cowboy boots, and then with Team Norway, doing the Viking Row after games with a huge smile on his face. It’s clear: The dude is having so much fun out there doing something that you’d think an 8- or 9-U soccer team would do.”
That Viking Row clip is so great. Everyone, unabashed joy.
Brad Stulberg with another paragraph to ponder:
“Imagine Michael Jordan and the Bulls in the middle of the NBA playoffs—not after winning it all, mind you, just after winning a playoff game—going to half-court and doing a celebration. They’re not doing that. They’re all business. They’re going back to the locker room. The Michael Jordan thing is: You’ve got to suffer for greatness, everything needs to be serious, you always need to be angry.”
Further into the piece, Stulberg shares how he approaches his teens’ athletic endeavors.
“I don’t pretend that winning doesn’t matter, because I think that’s dumb. Competitive kids are going to be like: ‘Dad, that’s dumb. Winning matters. Why else do we keep score?’ So I say: ‘Winning matters. Winning is part of the game. We’re trying to win. And you know how you’re going to have the best chance of winning? By having fun. If you’re not having fun, I can almost guarantee that you’re not going to win over the long haul.”
“Then I tell them that there are things we can’t control. We can’t control the points, because we don’t know how the other team is going to play. We don’t know what the weather is going to be like. All we can control are these two things: What’s our effort—are we trying hard? And are we appreciating the moment and having fun? If we do those things, then we’ve already kind of won the internal game. And if you play sports for long enough—which is the goal, because you’re having fun—you’re going to lose a lot and you’re going to win a lot.”
There’s a lot of ink being spilled about the exorbitant costs of US junior soccer travel teams. And how that is an impediment to the USMNT being among the best in world. This Slate conversation makes me think it’s probably the raised expectations that come with all the $. More specifically, having fun gets lost in parents’ emphasis on some sort of return for their investment. Like winning each match, increased social status, and college scholarships. Again, that combo drowning out Viking Striking-like fun.
Of course I coulda/shoulda titled this “Dear Europe” or “Dear World”, but it’s you I’m thinking about most today.
I’m sorry. If it’s any comfort, many of us are counting down to January, 2029. Of course that is no consolation for you right now. If the (dis)United States wins, there will always be an asterisk attached. If you win, I will celebrate your overcoming the double whammy of FIFA and DJT corruption.
And if it’s any consolation, I will be in Belgium with my bike and several friends in September. At which time I can apologize in person on behalf of many, many of my fellow citizens.
“She (Harp) often accompanied Trump when he played golf, bringing a printer and a laptop to show him articles; Harp’s use of a printer, which began from Trump’s preference for paper news, led to her being given the nickname of the ‘human printer’.”
What this excerpt doesn’t explain is that Harp only feeds Trump a steady diet of the best news coverage available at the time.
Yeah, I want someone just like Harp who would follow me around everywhere and provide a constant flow of unrelenting praise. Offloading self-compassion if you will. How great would that be?! Truly, this is an idea that only a stable genius could come up with.
Ironically, I played nine holes of golf for the first time in forever the other night. I somehow started out on fire but missed a short one for par on the par-5 fifth hole. How great would it be for my Natalie Harp to be sitting in a cart greenside at the ready to lift my spirits after a boneheaded bogey. Maybe handing me a printout that documents just how great my drive and five-wood were before the weak sand wedge and failed up and down that would soon be forgotten in all the praise for my amazing long game. And then, on the way to the next tee, she would whisper, “Many people are saying Ron, that was the best drive/five-wood combo this hole has ever seen. I know you’re going to make birdie on the next hole, so I’m just writing it in now.”
Yesterday, after an excellent group ride, I was day dreaming about my own Natalie Harp when I had an epiphany. I already have one in the form of my Strava AI assistant! Strava is a personal fitness app where people upload their workouts and applaud one another’s efforts. Think of it as a pseudo, cloud-sourced executive assistant/cheerleader of sorts.
But with an AI overlay, distinguished by its toxic positivity, it’s even more. Dig this recap of my ride.
“Crushed it.” “You’re clearly dialed in.” “What’s really impressive. . . ” I’m blushing. Never mind that it’s only the fifth day of the month.
Now, if we press pause for just a little bit and reflect on a very real possible downside to continuous over the top praise, there’s ample evidence that one could become a narcissistic sociopath.
