The hardest thing about the World Series is that it ends. And you find that yes, it is football season. I hate football season. Well, maybe except on those years where one of our way-cool offspring points out that the Super Bowl is gonna be on, and that means we need to make guacamole! Yup. That's the best thing about football-that it frequently goes away in a blur of guacamole.
It used to be, that when I'd unashamedly open my pie hole and express a known truth, that Baseball is the greatest game, some fat football fan would disagree in some typically football dude not-eloquent way. I'd attempt to explain my side, and try to show the lummox the error of his ways. My last ditch attempt-my hail Mary, if you will (another good football thing, other than guac, is that you sometimes get to say hail Mary without being in a church-always a plus!) is to suggest to the sub one hundred fellow that he obtain a copy of Game Six of the 1975 Series, watch it, and then come back and tell me how football is a greater game that baseball. Well, of course you never hear from him again.
Tonight, as it turns out, I have an ace in the hole. For if it were to happen that a dude actually did return to take up the debate, even after seeing the proof of the '75 Series, I now possess the nuclear option in this argument: obtain a copy of Game Six of the 2011 World Series, watch it, and then...well you get the idea. Wow, what a game. The Greatest Game.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Los Angeles to Roubaix
I grew up in West Los Angeles. My first bike was a blue Schwinn Speedster, a single speed. I loved that bike. Riding my bike was like nothing else; a feeling of freedom and expression combined with the ability to go anywhere I wanted to, quickly, and explore. In a minute, I could be a full block away. This was quite a change for a kid my age, barely accustomed to the feeling of exhilaration that came with being two houses away from where I lived.
Suddenly, I had wheels,
something like this.
I have never lost the desire to ride a bike, and to indulge in a little two-wheeled wander. Our neighborhood was perfect for bicycles, and as I got older, I went farther afield-up to UCLA, down Olympic to Santa Monica, east to Rancho Park. I relished the ride to and from school, and I remember riding to school a lot, in elementary, middle, and high school, with each successive school farther from home than the last. Bicycling was and is a simple, beautiful method of personal transport, an admix of fun, practicality, and inventiveness. My friends and I got into BMX when it was truly new, in the early 70's. The Schwinn Sting-Ray had seen to it that every kid could have a template to work out their perfect bike: high rise bars with a crossbar welded on like a real dirt bike, knobby tires, chain guards tossed away. Some guys even drilled their rims and hubs out so motorcycle spokes could be laced-although I give myself credit for having recognized the folly of this. Steel wheels, circa 1971, with an eighty pound rider, just didn't need any beefing up for the task at hand-and the bikes already weighed plenty without 12 guage (or whatever) spokes thrown in.
They always started
out like this!
But the single biggest influence on my understanding and appreciation of the bicycle came after the Sting-Ray phase. I was about fifteen, in high school, and I had grown out of BMX. I had a silver Nishiki (I think it was a Grand Prix?) ten speed, and I went everywhere on it. I began to notice other riders, "real cyclists" is how I thought of them. I became aware of a group of men who, every Sunday morning, gathered for a ride in front of a French restaurant three blocks from my house. These guys were the real deal: cycling shorts, shoes and jerseys, helmets, gorgeous Italian and English bikes with Campagnolo groupsets. These were the guys I wanted to ride with! So I did. I'd show up and mingle with them for a while before the ride, then, as the group rolled out, I'd fall in at the back of the pack. I knew they were a club of some sort, and I hadn't joined their club, but they were good natured about letting the kid tag along-for a while. Not that they ever complained, I just couldn't stay with them for more than a couple of miles-and on the flat of course. The group would head up Westwood Boulevard to Santa Monica and make a right. Like I said, I never was able to pace with them for more than a couple miles, and by the time we hit Century City, well, my group ride was over. They were just getting warmed up; I was breathing hard already and would call it quits, peeling off to finish my ride solo.
Fast forward thirty five years. I'm still riding a bike, still exploring on two wheels and enjoying watching the Tour de France on television every year, and encouraging my kids to ride too. One night, as I surfed cycling and bike sites (that's right-another middle aged guy at home, alone, viewing bike porn) I stumble on a neighborhood race down in West Los Angeles. The race is the very next day and the whole family is otherwise occupied, so I cruise down the next morning to check it out. I'm not there ten minutes when I realize that the sponsor of the race is the very same club that grew out of the group I used to try to keep up with on Sunday mornings. It's Velo Club La Grange http://www.lagrange.org/index.html
and they are one of the biggest and best bicycling clubs in the country. Raymond Fouquet operated La Grange Restaurant back then, and what I had tried to keep up with was their now rather famous Nichols Canyon Ride http://www.lagrange.org/rides_sun.htm , 27 miles of up, down, and all around. Had I known at the time, I probably would not have attempted to ride with them-maybe that Marina ride...But the fact that they were so welcoming, and so ready to talk about their bikes and share what they knew about this odd sport, made such an impression on me, and it's stayed with me all these years.
So...a few weeks ago, I went out and-finally-bought myself a proper road bike:
My Specialized Roubaix
Comp Compact Rival
And I've been riding it ever since! It is really a whole new world, and, yes, I put this off for a long time. Two weeks ago, on a Saturday, I rode 45 miles-up, down, and all around. Last Saturday, 40 miles. I'm clipped in and ready to roll, and I have to thank all those patient guys from so many years ago, who let a kid roll out with them, knowing I wouldn't be there for long, but also knowing the seed they were planting. Who knows, maybe I'll go ride Nichols Canyon one day soon.
Suddenly, I had wheels,
something like this.
I have never lost the desire to ride a bike, and to indulge in a little two-wheeled wander. Our neighborhood was perfect for bicycles, and as I got older, I went farther afield-up to UCLA, down Olympic to Santa Monica, east to Rancho Park. I relished the ride to and from school, and I remember riding to school a lot, in elementary, middle, and high school, with each successive school farther from home than the last. Bicycling was and is a simple, beautiful method of personal transport, an admix of fun, practicality, and inventiveness. My friends and I got into BMX when it was truly new, in the early 70's. The Schwinn Sting-Ray had seen to it that every kid could have a template to work out their perfect bike: high rise bars with a crossbar welded on like a real dirt bike, knobby tires, chain guards tossed away. Some guys even drilled their rims and hubs out so motorcycle spokes could be laced-although I give myself credit for having recognized the folly of this. Steel wheels, circa 1971, with an eighty pound rider, just didn't need any beefing up for the task at hand-and the bikes already weighed plenty without 12 guage (or whatever) spokes thrown in.
They always started
out like this!
But the single biggest influence on my understanding and appreciation of the bicycle came after the Sting-Ray phase. I was about fifteen, in high school, and I had grown out of BMX. I had a silver Nishiki (I think it was a Grand Prix?) ten speed, and I went everywhere on it. I began to notice other riders, "real cyclists" is how I thought of them. I became aware of a group of men who, every Sunday morning, gathered for a ride in front of a French restaurant three blocks from my house. These guys were the real deal: cycling shorts, shoes and jerseys, helmets, gorgeous Italian and English bikes with Campagnolo groupsets. These were the guys I wanted to ride with! So I did. I'd show up and mingle with them for a while before the ride, then, as the group rolled out, I'd fall in at the back of the pack. I knew they were a club of some sort, and I hadn't joined their club, but they were good natured about letting the kid tag along-for a while. Not that they ever complained, I just couldn't stay with them for more than a couple of miles-and on the flat of course. The group would head up Westwood Boulevard to Santa Monica and make a right. Like I said, I never was able to pace with them for more than a couple miles, and by the time we hit Century City, well, my group ride was over. They were just getting warmed up; I was breathing hard already and would call it quits, peeling off to finish my ride solo.
Fast forward thirty five years. I'm still riding a bike, still exploring on two wheels and enjoying watching the Tour de France on television every year, and encouraging my kids to ride too. One night, as I surfed cycling and bike sites (that's right-another middle aged guy at home, alone, viewing bike porn) I stumble on a neighborhood race down in West Los Angeles. The race is the very next day and the whole family is otherwise occupied, so I cruise down the next morning to check it out. I'm not there ten minutes when I realize that the sponsor of the race is the very same club that grew out of the group I used to try to keep up with on Sunday mornings. It's Velo Club La Grange http://www.lagrange.org/index.html
and they are one of the biggest and best bicycling clubs in the country. Raymond Fouquet operated La Grange Restaurant back then, and what I had tried to keep up with was their now rather famous Nichols Canyon Ride http://www.lagrange.org/rides_sun.htm , 27 miles of up, down, and all around. Had I known at the time, I probably would not have attempted to ride with them-maybe that Marina ride...But the fact that they were so welcoming, and so ready to talk about their bikes and share what they knew about this odd sport, made such an impression on me, and it's stayed with me all these years.
So...a few weeks ago, I went out and-finally-bought myself a proper road bike:
My Specialized Roubaix
Comp Compact Rival
And I've been riding it ever since! It is really a whole new world, and, yes, I put this off for a long time. Two weeks ago, on a Saturday, I rode 45 miles-up, down, and all around. Last Saturday, 40 miles. I'm clipped in and ready to roll, and I have to thank all those patient guys from so many years ago, who let a kid roll out with them, knowing I wouldn't be there for long, but also knowing the seed they were planting. Who knows, maybe I'll go ride Nichols Canyon one day soon.
Thanks
Velo Club La Grange!
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