Resubmit

Hot damn, yes, the sports streak continues. Kind of.

A sports royalty coupling is no more. Sue Bird and Megan Rapinoe have called it quits. When processing this news, be very careful not to mispronounce “Rah peen oh” in front of Alison.

Like you, I desperately need to know why.

Sue Bird explains:

“It’s like anything. It’s like, you grow, you change, you start having conversations about that in your relationship, and it just got to a point where we realized it might not be working anymore.”

AIRBALL! The least informative explanation of an uncoupling of all time by the WNBA leader in assists and games played. The first thing I taught my writing students was to avoid vague words and phrases. Words like “anything”, “change”, “that”, “it”, “anymore”.

Of course, Sue Bird doesn’t owe anyone an explanation, but since she attempted to provide one, she’s going to have to resubmit it. No exceptions, even for 13 time All-Stars.

Paragraphs To Ponder

From YahooFinance.

“Before MacKenzie Scott signed the Giving Pledge and started on her path to give away her $36 billion net worth, she went looking for a paragraph in a book she’d marked up during her college years.

She opened her Giving Pledge letter with a memory of pulling Annie Dillard’s The Writing Life off a shelf of her old college books, where she found a passage that she had ‘underlined and starred.’ Dillard’s advice to writers was to not hoard your best material for some later chapter. 

‘The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now,’ Dillard wrote, warning that otherwise, ‘you open your safe and find ashes.’ Scott took the writing advice literally and applied it to her massive fortune. 

For the past six years, Scott has remained committed to emptying her safe, so to speak. She’s donated more than $26 billion across more than 2,700 gifts through her philanthropic organization, Yield Giving. Her marquee year was in 2025 when she donated an eye-popping $7.2 billion. (That’s more than Bezos and his wife, Lauren Sánchez Bezos, have given over their entire lifetimes, according to Forbes estimates). The publication also named Scott the third-most generous philanthropist in the world this year, noting she has given away 46% of her net worth. 

True to the Dillard ethos, she gives fast and lets go. Her philanthropic style is stroking unrestricted checks with no applications, no progress reports, and almost no press.” 

Absolutely certain it doesn’t mean anything to MacKenzie Scott to be named the “third-most generous philanthropist in the world” this year. In fact, I’m pretty sure if she had her way, pieces like this one would never appear in print. What a role model.

Don’t hoard. Don’t find ashes. Annie Dillard with one of the most amazing assits of all-time.

How To Write

Guest post of sorts. That will appeal primarily to the small subset of PressingPausers who fancy themselves cycling nerds. Ben Farver is the Founder of Argonaut Cycles, a custom/boutique/ultra bougie bicycle manufacturer based in Bend, OR.

As concise and clear a design philosophy as you’re ever going to read. Ben in Bend for the win.

The Wrong Problem

The industry has been racing toward aerodynamics and stiffness for a decade. Neither one is the most important thing about a bicycle.

Ben Farver, Founder of Argonaut Cycles

Every major bike brand is in a race right now to make the most aerodynamic frame on the market.

I think they’re optimizing for the wrong thing.

That’s not a contrarian position for its own sake. Aerodynamics matter. Weight matters. The gains are real. But the conversation the industry is having about what makes a bicycle better has narrowed to a point where it’s almost entirely about numbers that most riders will never meaningfully feel.

And in that narrowing, the thing that actually determines whether a ride is transcendent or just fast has gotten lost.

Aerodynamic gains only matter if you’re racing. Ride quality matters on every single ride.

Here’s how the industry argument goes. Make the frame slipperier, reduce rolling resistance, optimize the tire interface. Get the rider from point A to point B faster with less effort. That’s the whole conversation.

And I understand it. Going fast on a road bike is one of the closest feelings we get to flying. Thirty miles an hour, two and a half feet above the ground. Faster is better. I’m not arguing otherwise.

But those aerodynamic gains only pay real dividends at the elite level. They matter in a race, where the difference between first and fourth is measured in seconds. They matter when you’re in a peloton, and drafting dynamics actually change what a more slippery frame is worth.

For everyone else, the gains are marginal at best. And most riders aren’t racing. Most riders are out for three hours on a Saturday morning, trying to find what makes cycling worth doing.

That thing has a name. I call it dynamic response.

It’s the feeling of the frame working with you, rather than just under you. The load-and-release quality that makes pedaling feel effortless when it should and explosive when you want it to. The vertical compliance absorbs the road without throwing you off your line. The torsional integrity that holds the bike dead stable at fifty miles an hour on a descent.

These aren’t vague experiential claims. They’re engineering outcomes. Specific, measurable, designable. They just require a different set of questions than the industry currently asks.

The bikes that win the aerodynamic argument all ride the same. That’s not a coincidence. It’s the cost of optimizing for one variable.

The irony is that I’m not ignoring the aerodynamic conversation. The RM4 is in development and will be more aerodynamically efficient than the RM3. Slipperier. Faster. That matters.

But the design intention isn’t to make it faster at the cost of everything else. It’s to make riding faster and more satisfying. To push both ends of the spectrum at the same time.

That’s the argument we get to have that nobody else does. Because we’re not starting from the aerodynamic frame and trying to add ride quality back in. We’re starting from ride quality and building outward.

Most of the industry has it backwards.

The RM3 is like the classic Porsche 911. The RM4 will be the one sitting next to it in the garage that makes you realize how much further the idea could go. The difference is that both are built around how they feel to drive. Not just how quickly they get around a track.

There’s a reason people who get on our bikes for the first time tell me they’re stiffer than the bikes they came from. I know for a fact they’re usually not. The frame they got on isn’t as stiff as their previous bike by any objective measure.

But it has better power transfer. It has that load-and-release quality that people associate with stiffness because it’s the closest sensation they have a word for. What they’re actually feeling is the frame doing its job well.

That’s the problem worth solving.

Not how quickly the frame moves through the air. But how well it moves with the person on it.

The industry will keep improving aerodynamics. Tubes will get more optimized. Drag coefficients will keep dropping. And those bikes will keep winning races.

What they won’t do is give you the feeling that made you fall in love with riding in the first place.

That one is ours to build.

Maybe a better title for this post would’ve been, “How To Think”. And hell yes I want one.

How Not To Win Friends And Influence People

I couldn’t take the relentless mix of fear and negativity on “Nextdoor” so I unsubscribed. But it’s one of those subscriptions that makes it especially difficult to unplug so I keep getting occasional summary “digests”. From which the above missive comes.

C.W. is on a mission. And maybe my right wing nutter friends are right about me and I’m just a snowflake since C.W. has 83 “hearts” and counting.

But it seems to me, if the goal is to effect change, the tone is all wrong. What evidence is there that chastising improves behavior?

HAD C.W. employed me as their* editor, the first thing I would’ve suggested is change the Frump-like all caps because what evidence is there that yelling improves behavior?

C.W. seems to think the future of hummingbirds depends upon their righteous indignation. The whole damn bird/insect/nature ecosystem, if not life itself as we know it, seemingly hangs in the balance.

Other edits. Because less is more, delete the first two and last two sentences at minimum. Make it less personal and accustory and insert a “please” or two. In other words, more sugar water and less fire hose.

The “free of charge” final draft.

Recently, I saw a hummingbird with it’s tongue out which made me think that some people may not know how important it is to clean their feeders with soap and water every few days. And please, if you see white filmy crap, use white vinegar and water to get rid of bacteria. Mother Nature, the hummingbirds, and I thank you.

p.s. Great 60 Minutes segment last night on how birding has revived parts of Colombia’s forested areas and economy that until recently were riddled with political violence. One of Colombia’s, and the world’s most well known birders said that hummingbirds “are complete warriors always fighting for territory”. Who knew they were so agro?

*Why do I assume C.W. is female?

Powell’s Bookstore And Officer Jenkins For The Win

From the “Keep Portland Weird” Facebook Page.

MAN ARRESTED AFTER BREAKING INTO A FAMOUS BOOKSTORE ON BURNSIDE AT MIDNIGHT TO FINISH A BOOK HE “WASN’T GOING TO BE ABLE TO SLEEP WITHOUT”

Leonard “Lenny” Whitaker, 67, of Portland, Oregon, was charged Tuesday with breaking and entering after slipping into a closed famous bookstore on Burnside through a propped emergency exit at 12:10 AM—all to finish the final 47 pages of a thriller he had been quietly working through in the armchair section for four straight afternoons.

According to the report, Whitaker discovered the book on day one, read for several hours, carefully re-shelved it spine-out for easy retrieval, and returned daily like it was a part-time job. On day four, he was politely asked to leave at closing with 47 pages left—at what he later described to officers as “an absolutely unacceptable emotional cliffhanger for a man my age.”

Details from the police report:
Located the book in complete darkness using his phone flashlight in under a minute (“muscle memory,” he claimed)
Returned to his exact armchair like a seasoned professional
Came prepared with reading glasses, a granola bar, and what officers described as “focus”
Finished the remaining 47 pages in 1 hour and 14 minutes
Re-shelved the book properly (alphabetically, no less)
Found seated calmly with the book closed in his lap, staring into the middle distance like he’d just unpacked something personal
When officers asked if he was okay, Whitaker replied,
“Yeah… I just thought it was going somewhere else.”
He declined to elaborate.

Officer Jenkins noted in the report, “He didn’t run. Didn’t panic. Just… needed closure. Honestly, we’ve all been there.”

The bookstore has declined to press charges, despite the abandoned granola bar wrapper, which management described as “mildly disappointing but understandable.”
The book has since been purchased by three customers. Whitaker has not returned.

He came for answers. He left with… complicated feelings.

Postscript: Alternative Title, “Powell’s Bookstore, Officer Jenkins, And Whomever Left The Emergency Door Propped Open For Whitaker For The Win”

What I Believe

A new friend I’m enjoying spending time with asked me recently, “Do you go to church? Did you? How were you raised, religiously?”

I can quickly and easily answer those questions. No. Yes. Semi-religiously. But those cryptic responses beg follow up questions, especially, what happened that caused you to stop attending church? But instead of explaining that here, I’m guessing she was most curious about what I believe.

I appreciate the meaning many people find in being active church goers. The way the music, liturgical traditions, friendships, and community service enrich their lives. Organized religion is almost always a net positive.

For me though, the ancient hymns, and too often patriarchal liturgies and prayers, combined with a dearth of opportunities for intentional and democratic small group communication, made church participation less and less compelling post-Covid. I also believe anyone who thinks their own faith tradition is the one and only true one needs to see more of the world.

I am not explaining my thinking to persuade you to think similarly. I do not need you to think similarly to me for me to be secure in my beliefs. I am all for church participation for thee, just not for me. But, as the numbers clearly show, I am not alone in finding transcendence elsewhere.

And although I am dechurched, I believe in the supernatural, more specifically in a holy spirit if you will.

I seek transcendence in three places primarily: nature; the arts; and close interpersonal relationships.

I believe in the Salish Sea, Aspen trees, the Cascades, the Pacific coast, and all of Western Canada.

I believe in words and imagination, and emotions and stories, and how some people combine them in ways, that for me, are truly transcendent. I believe in Ian McEwan, Richard Russo, Joan Didion, and Jonathan Franzen. And I believe in modern dance, painting, and the power of film. Artists convince me, over and over, that things will be okay in the long run.

And I believe in family, the kind that’s based on birth and the kind people thoughtfully cut and paste together over the years. I especially believe in caregivers, like Olga, Abigail, and Fufu, who hold families together.

And I believe in the emerging social scientific consensus that says well-being mostly consists of making close friends and then spending time with them. I believe in the simplicity of that formula.

And I don’t just believe, but know in the depths of my soul that tomorrow is not guaranteed and I cannot afford to put off being in nature, reading ebullient stories, celebrating art, hanging with family and friends, and loving deeply.    

Hotel California

Friday morning, I woke up in Washington State’s capital, per usual. Then I leapfrogged from Tumwater Costco to Medford Costco to California’s state capital and M and C Griffins Sacto crib*, hemorrhaging large swaths of my lifetime savings at the pump as I migrated south.

I was asked to deliver a message. Which I did.

Gav,

Eat the rich.

Bobby

Saturday’s tuneup ride was a flat, fun affair alongside the Sacto and American rivers. Well, except for trying to stay on MGriffins wheel when he got frustrated by my pedestrian pacing.

Today’s drive begins shortly. Destination San Diego where a week-long circumnavigation of the County awaits. 16 other crazies. Different California Hotel every night. Mark scaring me a bit by saying the group is “interesting” then just smiling evilly as if words don’t do them justice.

Your humble blogger will do his best to match their crazy. It will be fun to meet new people, ride new roads, and to dry out under blazing, cloudless sunshine. If only I wasn’t so undertrained. Don’t tell the crazies I’m a lil’ nervous.

Raise your hand if you’d like me to blog San Diego County bike week. Okay, thank you, you can put your hands down.

Raise your hand if you’re a numbers person and will (somehow) be content to just follow me on Strava. Okay, thank you, you can put your hands down.

Raise your hand if you’re of the same mind as my sissy who often reminds me, “Ron it’s not all about you.” Meaning, not only do you not want to know anything about how next week unfolds on the roads of San Diego County, but you’re deeply regretting even reading this intro.

The “please, please, please blog SDC cycling tour” contingent carries the day. Congratulations to them and everyone whose lives are about to be changed by my reporting.

Remember, when it comes to the humble blog, “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”

*If you ever get the chance to stay at Chez Griffin, take it. Bespoke hospitality marked by amazing food and conversation.

Postscript. If UCLA wins today, I’ll pick up the Crazies dinner tab. Oh wait, I forgot how much the drive is going to cost. Nevermind.

When Will It Ever End?

How does one humble blog so damn long? Is it the endurance athlete in me? Or the fame or fortune? Something all together different?

Before I tell you, a peek behind the curtains. I get inquires from East Indians with fake American names all the time, promising blogging glory though improved SEO, search engine optimization. Persistent buggers. I always say “no thank you” since I have no interest in monetizing this collection of knuckleheaded ideas. I have made zero effort to improve the site with an eye towards a larger readership. Which prob explains why I only get 100-200 site visits a day, except for the day I posted a picture of a bikini clad woman snowboarding. That day, my running posse probably accounted for 100-200 themselves.

Still, as I have written in the past, one of the coolest things about my small readership is the surprisingly high number of international readers, usually about 25% of the total. Por exemplar, for reasons I cannot explain, I’ve been blowing up in Singapore lately. I see you Singapore! Thank you!

But the best explanation for my literary longevity is that inevitably, whenever my enthusiasm wanes, someone says to me that they’ve appreciated something I’ve written. Almost always, someone who I had no idea was a reader.

Yesterday afternoon, capitalizing on beautiful weather, I walked to a meeting with a Certified Financial Planner whose office is by the Farmer’s Market. And then, on the way back, near Bayview Thriftway, a kitted up Roger materialized at the end of a ride. Roger lives in West Olympia so he was headed up the bridges and right by the Crib.

When he saw me, he pulled over to the curb and took his ear buds out. After our heartfelt bro handshake, he apologized for not having reached out during Lynn’s illness or since her passing. I told him not to worry about it, that that was okay. Would not have expected him too. He didn’t know Lynn and we hadn’t ridden together for sometime.

But, he said, with genuine emotion rare for the male species, he’d been reading the blog, “Even though it was really hard to at times.” Then he expressed the same appreciation that so many have, for me sharing our experience caring for Lynn in her final years, months, and days, as openly and honestly as possible.

And here’s the thing. Just maybe, absent my responsibilities for Lynn, absent professional responsibilities, absent any reason not to prioritize friendships, I’m learning to be present. Because I didn’t want to be anywhere else doing anything else. Buddhist-like contentment. My only time-related thought was how long Roger wanted to sit leaning on the curb clipped into one pedal.

After Roger shared a little bit about his own recent health struggles and Capital Forest mountain bike riding, he headed up and to the west, looking like a young Alberto Contador.

And I thought maybe this matters. And just maybe, I’ll continue.

Postscript. Another thing I don’t think I’ve ever done in lo’ these many years is ask readers for anything. Since streaks are made to be broken, let’s break that streak here and now. Be a Roger. Occasionally at least, when you read someone who moves you, let them know. It doesn’t necessarily have to be IRL as the kids say. Almost every online pub provides ways to leave comments. Resolve to leave a comment on occasion. It’s not hard. Not just here, but anywhere writers are trying to foster community. You may think your words of affirmation don’t amount to much, but au contraire.

Postscript 2. A more specific ask. Lately, I’ve been contemplating the advantages/disadvantages of this format versus starting a Substack. If you have an informed opinion, I’d be interested in hearing it. Thanks.

Postscript 3. Sometimes I amaze myself. Like when I spell “au contraire” correctly the first time. :)

Postscript 4. Today, Hong Kong SAR China is in the lead. East Asia/South East Asia battle royale!