Summer time come and gone my oh my

August 7 and I now catch my breath. Been travelin' Did not spend a Friday night in July in my own bed, and three of those Friday nights I was sleeping in my tent--West Virginia, Pine Ridge and Rent One. Last Friday I luxuriated in a hotel room in Milwaukee-- after nine hours on my motorcycle riding there from Carbondale. The ride to SSR, my first, but I've been trying to ride to the meeting since SSR was in Madison in 2000-- but then it was the Norton and Chicago to Madison was way out of the comfort zone. But this jaunt, on the BMW was just plain easy, 420 miles in 9 hours. Such a splendid ride up US 51 to Decatur then I 39 to I 43 to Milwaukee; 42 mpg, 125 miles comfort zone. I made it 250 on 6 gallons and was a bit tense as I cruised north past Alpine Valley, the site of so many great shows, but not a gas station in sight. I cruised into with a half a gallon to spare. Hard on the ass to ride that far without stopping. But nothing like the ride home-- on the hottest day ever-- 107 degrees! Detour via Chicago, I94 in traffic- yikes-- but once I57 stretched on south of I80 it was smooth sailing. I let the wind fill my chest and leaned forward, suspended, relaxed-- hot as hell, even going 80 the sweat was streaming into my eyes. boots and jeans burning in the sun, no indoors when your on your bike. It was OK though, like an athletic event, a seated marathon. I wanted to ditch my jacket it was so hot through the mesh, but I felt like a fireman, their jackets are warm too, but they sure wouldn't take them off. The punishing sun would have seared me and darkened my tan black after burning me red-- been there, done that many times, but now I am rather enjoying my skin not being burned in the relentless sun. When I made it to the rest are north of Effingham I crawled onto a bench and took a little nap. I drank three liters of water and ate three protein bars which had melted to pudding. The day had started to cool as the sun slanted west and after I stopped at Mt Vernon for gas I packed my lovely silver mesh jacket into a pouch, tied it to the luggage rack and flew on down the road in my t-shirt. Much cooler but that ragged wind was still hot. Interstates are where the semis scream and push, blotting out the music and rocking the bike-- its good to get past them, and Silver Cloud delivers. I got of the interstate at Benton and followed 37 all they way to Marion. Slow, scenic, peaceful, cool in the shade of the Shawnee forest-- much more pleasant than that old interstate.

The ride to SSR added to the huge wonderful experience. My 24th SSR, an annual pilgrimage to the Society for the Study of Reproduction, my scientific home. This year I had the honor of presenting a tribute to Anita Payne -- my first plenary lecture at SSR. Sally Kemper, Phyllis Wise, Marco Conti and I collaborated for the Historical Perspectives session starting out with biography then we gave talks for each of her eras-- early Phyllis, middle me and late Marco. Phyllis focused on her personal relationship with Anita. My talk described my journey from Leydig cells to Ovarian cancer in chickens and how Anita influenced me at many steps along the way-- such as introducing me to Janice Bahr who enables the chicken research-- to the cyp17 antibody I made in her lab that I am still distributing to labs all over the world. It was a lot of fun preparing and giving the talk. I introduced the entire society to the chicken model and espoused its virtuous recapitulation of the human disease-- convincingly so judging from the buzz I heard during the coffee breaks. The model really speaks to many people especially those who have been personally touched by the disease. Perhaps the new best hope for finding the cure. At the NAKED party, minutes after I walked into that Milwaukee bar and queued up for a beer, I was almost accosted by an enthusiastic trainee who threw herself at me excited to talk about chicken research. She collected herself while I nodded at her silently, and explained that she was a reproductive physiologist at the National zoo and had a keen interest in bird models of disease. Pretty fun ice breaker, who would've figured ovarian cancer would spawn so many conversations. NAKED was a dance frenzy with may students new and old and friends I've danced with since my first NAKED. A non sanctioned core function at SSR meetings.

The high point of my year, as I have been heard saying,comes on the last night of the meeting when I get to play with the band at the annual dance and barbecue. This year there was a great cover band, Counting Crows and Rusted Root, and the bass player played the harp. We negotiated for 1st song second set, Sweet Home Chicago in E. I leapt onto the stage and as soon as I blew a few notes into the mike, the crowd went wild, surging to the stage, arms raised chanting Buck Buck... I feel like a rock star! Those guys were great and we played a stellar version of sweet home, right in sync, perfect tune and three big solos! Fabulous, what a trip. Twice in that meeting, the lights all shining on me, two memorable performances. Kristine delivered the final act, her last presentation from her graduate work, now her post doc in prostate cancer takes her away. And my excitement seeing Sean, Sara, Erfan, Sheree with Kristine the whole meeting, the new guard, the charter members of the Hales lab, SIU edition.

A great end to a frenetic summer, though August stretches out before us like the desert sand, with the cooler weather of autum a mirage on the horizon.

For the health of it...

Ta da, this is the 100th episode of virtual buck's blog.

The death of my old pal really got me thinking and prompted this blog enter. I was thinking about my health today as I was soaking in the hot tub in the beautiful clear 15 degree sunny morn, when I noticed the band aids still on my knees, each with a dime sized spot of dried blood, from the sites of the cortisol injections. Cortisol shots into inflamed joints are famous, it seems pitchers are always getting shot up in the shoulders to enable them to finish the season, and I certainly have heard about getting the shots in the knees-- and on Friday I found out first hand what it was like. Ten cc's into each knee, with a big long needle. It did not hurt at all, but it was very weird. The pressure of the injection as the fluid engulfed the space between the knee bones was an odd sensation. But the effects of the cortisol were unexpected. At midnight I was so wide-awake I felt wired out of my mind! I lay in bed reading until 2 AM finishing the last 100 pages of John Irving's "Last Night at Twisted River" and then with the lights out, lay under my eye pillow with my ear phones in, completely awake, refractory to all attempts to lure my surging thoughts to a sleepy place. Instead I designed the patio, the koi pond, the terraced garden, the rose bed-- and then began to harvest the downed wood in the forest figuring out where to stack it, deciding to rent a splitter then stack and split.... wow, that stuff was great!

When I got up on Saturday it was as though I had new knees. I am encouraged to begin rehab. Queue Amy Winehouse-- "they tried to get me to go to rehab but I said, no, no,no.... he's tried to make me go to rehab, but I won't go, go, go..." until now. I successfully rehabbed in fall 2004 after I suffered a stress fracture in my left knee and managed to run the Denver Marathon. But last spring after skiing for four days in BC, I just haven't been the same. Now not being able to run marathons is one thing, but not being able to ski? Forget that. So, now that we've moved, and have settled into our new life in Carbondale, I decided to see if I could get some help for my arthritic meniscus eroded old knees. I had to find a doc to get my eye med Rx refilled, so I visited the Family Practice clinic at SIU med and had an all purpose visit. Nice young Doctor, first year Resident took care of my Rx and then gave me the once over. I asked about collagen injections when he observed the crepitation in my knee-- so he gave me a referral to SI orthopedic clinic. I mentioned the new mole on my shoulder and when the resident consulted with attending physician they were almost giddy to see the perfect example of basal cell carcinoma had had sprouted. Oh, nothing to worry about, the most common form of bening skin cancer, completely treatable and easily removed. So a second referal, to the SI Derm Clinic.

I was actually feeling rather poorly when I visited the doctor, as though I was coming down with a cold--which progressed to a dose of the flu over the last week of the 2009-- what a way to end a sick decade-- sick. We stayed close to home for the holidays and in the time off I was able to recuperate from the flu, and visit the Derm. Dr. Burke a recent graduate from the Derm residency at SIU and an MD from UIC, we established a great rapport and he agreed with the diagnosis-- but took a biopsy to satisfy the insurance requirement. Diagnosis confirmed so a few days after Christmas I had the growth surgically removed. I was surprised to find out how much the minor surgery took out of me, I was in a bit of pain, but more so, I felt spent by the procedure. I recovered in a day or so except for the itching stitches. So, finally, Friday, the day of my visit to the orthopedic clinic, I also got to get my stitches removed.

My visit to the orthopod started with Xrays of my knees. I had a detailed discussion with Dr Wood who then probed my knees. When I told him I had run 21 marathons he congratulated me while he cranked my clicking knee around. We looked at the Xrays and he showed me the osteo-athritic ostiophytes and how little space remained between the plates. We discussed treatment plans. His goal is to avoid or delay knee replacement. So I am scheduled for Supartz or Synvisc injections of hyaluronan-- one injection should last for about 6 months, and it is expected to prevent knee pain and give me some mobility back. But to be sure that the insurance will pay for this, first I had to have the cortisol injections, 3 months of physical therapy 3 times per week, and I have to take high dose NSAID to reduce the inflammation. Wow, they are going for it. Let's get your knees better. I had not anticipated getting injected with cortisol or the resulting phsychoactivation. Also, I hadn't expected to be plunged into a vigorous new physical therapy routine.

Perfect timing actually. As I ponder the death of my friend, who was precisely my age, my thoughts turn to my own health and longevity. The last time I saw Matt in 2002, he picked me up at the airport in KC and drove me to Lawrence for a visit. I was shocked to see the bloated 300 pound man who looked like death warmed over-- his booming voice greeted me as he remarked that I looked like a marathon runner. This when I felt fat and was in a lull in my running, but my 230 was slim by comparison,though I was approaching my all time high weight. While I was gaining control and losing weight, he continued to gain. By the time he died on New Year's Eve 2009, under the blue moon, the last full moon of the decade, he weighed over 400 pounds. Death no longer warmed over. The control I lost in the last year during the transition and then the move to Carbondale I now regain. The regimentation and time I will have to devote to rehab under the guidance of the PT at the orthopedic clinic will necessarily help me to establish a new routine. I told the doc I really missed running-- a lot, but I was enjoying bicycling and rowing. He told me that "if it was my passion, I could probably run, but it would hasten my time to knee replacement." Yikes. OK, how about walking? The Synvisc will really help with that. How about skiing? OK, I will do the rehab, limit my running and save my knees for skiing once I build myself backup to it. I guess I better be sure to wear sun screen. Losing a few pounds will help the old knees too. OK, rehab, just for the health of it.

He's Gone

All that's left to do is smile, smile, smile.... Heard the news late last night that my old buddy Matthew Thomas Moore passed away on New Year's Eve, under the bright light of the blue moon, that last full moon of the first decade of the 21st Century. I queued the song in my mind, He's Gone, from Europe 72, that seminal Grateful Dead album of the same year-- the year I heard the Grateful Dead live for the first time, and 5 years before I met the old Hip-eye, as he was affectionately known. The lyrics of that song ring true:

Going where the wind don't blow so strange
Maybe on some high cold mountain range
Lost one round but the price wasn't anything
Knife in a back and more of the same
Same old rat in a drain ditch
Out on a limb
You know better but I know him

Now he's gone
Lord he's gone
Like a steam locomotive rolling down the track
He's gone
He's gone
and nothin's gonna bring him back
He's gone....

http://artsites.ucsc.edu/GDead/agdl/gone.html

The same song I sang when my father died, when my dogs Don Diego and Leon died, or when my brother Scott died-- when they all die-- tragic early deaths of lives cut short, or lives lived fully until old age or disease robs them from us. Death always puts our own fragile lives in crystal clear perspective. Life is the most precious thing but often death is a blessing. Matthew was a unique man, the deepest most booming voice who could be heard above the sound of a jet airplane taking off. A larger than life character who was there for the journey, not where it was suppose to take him. It brings back many memories of our time together when we were in our twenties, the most formative time of one's life. Our live's have taken very different trajectories, and his lead him to his untimely death. 56 years old is way too young do die. We were the same age, yet I feel like I am in my prime and my biggest and most important work is still ahead of me. I do not believe that Matthew felt like he had "his work" no Dharma to guide him, he just was. He lived for the moment and the moment has passed. Rest in peace my old friend. You have gone where the winds don't blow so strange.

Matthew Thomas Moore, 11/12/1953-12/31-2009.

2010

Happy New Year and Happy New Decade. 2009 and the first decade of the 21st century are now history and most would say good riddance! Last year was a very challenging one as we watched the economy worsen. But it was absolutely a wonderful year for the Hales. We packed up and moved from Oak Park to Carbondale into a great new house and actually finally managed to sell our old house-- over 80 showings and 3 contracts in the six months it was on the market. The intensity of the whole house sale business is a now a fading memory. I spent nearly six months working on the house getting it ready to sell and then watched the sale price erode as the housing market crashed. But the story had a happy ending. The previous owners of our Carbondale home had also gone to great lengths to get the house ready to sell and it was in perfect shape-- nothing needed to be done, except landscaping, and that we GET to do and at our own pace. There were a lot of improvements in houses built in 1994 compared to 1913, like closets, bathrooms, insulation, etc. We just love our new home, perched on the edge of the woods, secluded but just 4 miles from work. Ryder misses his old neighborhood, living in crowded old Oak Park with 200 kids within 1/2 mile of the house, but he likes his school so much more than the public school in Oak Park. Even though the resources at the New School are scant compared to Lincoln school, it is such a richer environment in so many ways, especially the wonderful teachers and like minded group of parents. So the big move was a very positive development in 2009.

Starting our new jobs has been really great too-- though demanding, challenging, and nearly overwhelming at times, I am really enjoying my new job as Chairman. Talk about on the job learning-- hoo-yah! And the opportunity for Karen in her new job on the tenure track faculty, her own lab and now in a position to make her mark in science. SIU is a like a big family and seemingly we are among the elite. It is a very easy place to work and while not insulated from the politics of academia, the feeling here is so much better than UIC. The longer I was there the worse it got to the point it was toxic, hostile and stifling. Not my colleagues, not my students, but the departmental and administrative politics were awful. I am so happy to be free of that now, and feel equal to the challenge of facing the same challenges that my Chair at UIC faced. I think my honeymoon has officially ended as the school year came to a crashing end. These are tough times and Illinois is in dire straits. I was never involved in state level politics and only worried about whether the CTA would keep running. Now I am acutely aware of what goes on in Springfield, how the State is reluctantly releasing only the minimal amount of funds to barely keep SIU going-- all political posturing and brinkmanship. It is rather daunting to be put in the position that SIU is in because the state comptroller Dan Hynes is running for Governor and trying to make the current Govenor look bad. Quinn still gets my vote, he is trying to do the right thing but is held hostage, as are we, by the looming election and politicos trying to gain advantage. Taxes have to be raised! But that is off subject here-- yes, 2009 was a challenging year for the economy, for the job and housing sectors, but we came through in a much better position than we were in at the end of 2008 by far! It is humbling to consider, in fact, how well we are doing as many around us are not faring so well. But all agree that 2010 is going to be a much better year and this new decade has to be better than the last. We have a president with vision, integrity, and the will to make things better. He inherited one hell of a mess, the full brunt of which now being realized under his watch, but not by his doing. The party of NOPE is doing all that it can to prevent us from moving forward-- but I have not lost faith in Obama, and time will tell. Bush will not only emerge as the worst president of the 21st century, but as the worst of all time. And I predict, Obama will emerge as the most important, on a par with FDR and JFK.

As the new year dawns bright and cold in Carbondale, I join the ranks of the neo-resolutionists. I found it very difficult to get my real work done as I adjusted to the challenges of being Chair and teaching for one of my faculty who was on sabbatical. The teaching was an excellent experience and it really helped me learn my way around the curriculum and our department's teaching mission. Now I turn the full force of my attention to my research-- grants and papers, and of course--data. I have a great new crew in the Cardondale edition of the Hales lab, but really need a post-doc to propel the research effort back to where I was at this time last year. So the resolve to move the research forward is not new, but reinvigorated with the change of the year. I absolutely believe my best and most important work is still ahead of me.

Another challenge that my new job has brought is figuring out how to get my workout in. I was making good progress getting to the gym and rowing on the erg and riding my bicycle to work. When the teaching and frenetic administrative work overwhelmed me in early October I struggled to keep up the effort, and was thwarted by the rain. Wimp! Coward! yeah, right. My bicycle buddies in Chicago are riding still, if not on their ride to work , but on their trainers in spin class. This is my new resolve-- get off my butt and get to the gym, get on my bike and ride, take a vinyasa yoga class-- fight the battle of bulge. I've regained half of the big weight I lost and it stops now! Yeah, there is that resolve. So I join the other 350 million neo-resoutionists whom I always scoffed at when they flooded into the January gym. I have no choice, I have to begin again.

One last thought about how great 2009 was and what we look forward to in 2010 and the 2nd decade of the 21st century. Zelda. The new Weimaranar, the next generation. Cooper is with us still and though he is in his decline, Zelda has breathed new life into the old guy. These grays are wonderful dogs, and so alike in so many ways. They are particularly huggable and very loving. Mirabel loves having a new friend and is a puppy again. She is so sweet and lovable, but her body language is so different from the gray dogs. A coiled coil vs the languorous love dog. We are blessed to have these wonderful dogs in our life and though we know Cooper is near his end, we are so happy to have his imprint on Zelda, who just loves that big old boy so much. Ah, yes, life is good and its going to be even better this year and this decade for sure.

This way or that?

When Ryder and I mounted Silver Cloud for the ride home from SIU, I asked him which way he wanted to go--this way (through town) or that (skirting town on the south)? He said "the long way." And so we headed east on old 13, south on Spillway over to Grassy Road and back to Giant City Road. A 25 mile detour. And it was splendid. The late afternoon sun filtering through the dense trees creating a tapestry on the tarmac. Nice twisty turns, shifting down then accelerating , wrapping around the curve. Crab Orchard on the right, glowing in the late rays blue sky puff cloud green and vast, serene, no cars on the road, just me and my boy. Big boy that he is too, wearing him mom's jean jacket, as tall as her shoulder now. Today I dropped him at school too, much to his delight. He keeps threatening to blow up my bicycle so I can ride him to the Carbondale New School (CNS) every day. CNS is turning out to be even better than we hoped. The combined 2-3 grades are just 15 kids for Ms. Laurie. She is a very talented, creative and involved teacher. Our school experience so far this year is so much more favorable than Lincoln school last year-- and it is one of the best of its kind-- public school with 22 kids per teacher and an assessment based curriculum, teaching to the lowest common denominator. I have nothing but respect and appreciation for how truly good Lincoln school is and how good the teachers are. But there is really no fair comparison to CNS. A play ground in the woods, a funky looking big old ranch style house converted into two levels with the common areas in the 1/2 basement, and the class rooms upstairs. Ryder's class room is filled with animals, books, legos, and all the usual teaching materials. Ryder is doing math next door in the 4-5 classroom and after a two week trial, he has been permanently recruited to the next grade up for math. His new best buddy at CNS is in the fourth grade, so it works out well. The best evidence is how much Ryder is liking school this year.

Last night we attended the corporation meeting for the school. Every parent and family is part of the CNS corporation. The meeting was efficiently run and as all the parents, some 30 or so of us sat hunkered down on child sized benches surrounding the room. Quite an interesting group of folks. Most parents older than average, but a good range, and some very cool looking people. After the meeting we went to the class room and while talking with Laurie met one of Ryder's classmates folks. They too just moved here and he took a professorship in finance at SIU. I asked the mom what she did and she said "I have a PhD in Biochemistry. After I did my post-doc I worked for a company that sells stem cell products, and now I am consulting." Wow! What was amazing to me was that they bought the house that was on our short list-- a saltbox on Upper Brush which we really liked because of the beautiful lot. The house was in need of a lot of renovation but it was a bargain. After spending the better part of the year renovating the house in Oak Park, we wanted nothing to do with a fixer-upper and are so happy with what we got. The also fell under the spell of the Victorian Legend, the 1895 Victorian farm on Springer Ridge. They too made an offer that fell through. The owners of that farm just don't want to sell it. So, it is a small world after all.

We also started cub scouts this week, which will be another great way to meet new people. The scout families range across the socio-economic spectrum which I am very excited about so that we can meet people who live in our community, but are not just university folks. All the the 2-3 graders in Carbondale go to Thomas. Pre-K, K and 1st go to Parrish, 4-5 go to Lewis, then Middle school and then the High School. This arrangements removes inter-school rivalry or inequitable distribution of students and incomes. Nine kids in Ryder's scout troop. The scout master's son and Ryder really hit it off well. Alan Benson, the scout master is the retired chair of the theater department at Kent State. My first impression of him was that he was too old and doddering to be a cub scout leader-- he seemed to barely be able to get around. But when all the parents gathered around him while the scouts ran wild in his back yard, he gave a very lucid, thoughtful and engaging narrative about the scouts, what the plans on for this year, and all the organizational details. He discussed the achievements and belt loops and patches outlining the various activities. He talked of pushing the boys to get through all this and I got the impression he was rather stern, and completely in control, opposite from what I first thought. As it turns out he is 68 married to a much younger woman with whom they have their 8 year old son, his second marriage. His wife is a professor at SIU in the theater dept teaching voice and movement in the McLeod theater--where we saw the production of Into the Woods. She was a stage and screen actress and then joined the faculty. Quite an erudite couple and their son is Ryder's new pal. Ryder really is excited about scouting here because of all the outdoors. I was a bit worried when Alan got to the Religious Embel patch and how you earn this working with your pastor, priest, minister, rabbi or what ever. And that you didn't have to be in an organized religion but you had to have some kind of faith, a belief system-- or some other manifestation of spirituality that you honor and participate in. It was a lovely way out for us, and though he is in charge of the Presbyterian faction of scouting, he is neither evangelical or demanding. So my one great fear, other than too much camouflage, was being proselytized. Lots to look forward to with twice monthly den and once monthly pack meetings, whew. And soccer starts on the 12th also! Ah, no shortage of stuff to do around here, that's for sure.

Mister Chairman I presume?

Holy cats! I'm freaking out here. All of a sudden this new job has become rather daunting. Late Friday afternoon and this is the first time I've had a chance to catch my breath all day. I had 30 hours of face time this week! Meetings with the Dean of School of Medicine (my boss), with the Dean of College of Science (my co-conspirator), emails from vice-chancellor *asking* for favors, faculty issues, students swarming around everywhere, dealing new funding policies for intramural grants which have been the life blood of some of my faculty, and of course, the hardest part of the Chairman's job-- space. We need more. Secret deals, a handshake and a wink, and I am faced with trying to figure out who said what to whom when and what was agreed upon and if these deals are set in stone etc. It makes me weak in my knees! Meanwhile I have two manuscripts burning a hole in my desk, yearning to be edited, tuned up, and submitted. No wait, there's more... always more. Adjusting to Ryder's school schedule, us both working full time everyday-- not only didn't I get any work done this week because I was so busy with my job, the only exercise I got was riding my bicycle to and from work Monday and today. That and walking all over the campus going from appointment to appointment. Ah, but it is such a lovely campus filled with eager young minds enjoying this late summer warmth and clear skies. Oh to be in college again. Forget that! Do overs are not allowed in reality.

Despite how freaked out I am feeling about now, I have the subtle inner voice speaking calmly in my ear to me, reminding me that I am equal to these challenges and that if I rely on my instincts I will make the right decisions and do the right thing. I am really enjoying owning a motorcylce as is my son, who would really rather ride to work than be driven in the car. He hated that I rode my bicycle today instead of dropping him off at school. He is wearing his mother's old jean jacket now and is comfortable on the back of Silver Cloud. He is born to be a biker, just like his dad. And I really enjoyed my bicycle ride this morning. The hills on my ride in were huge mountains to me at first, now I barely need to gear down at all to peddle over them. The hill on the way home is much bigger, so I still need to drop a few gears to keep up my cadence and make it over the hill, and my heart rate is up for the whole ride. Though my ride is 1/2 as long as it was in Chicago, my cardiac output is probably equal or greater because I ride much harder/faster. All the stop signs and traffic and riding with other bike commuters made for much more casual rides. When I rode alone off hours I could hit stretches of 20 mph until I had to stop at the next light. I travel at 25-27 mph for much of the ride now, except on the way up, and then I drop to 12 mph or so. I should take the long way to work and get a few extra miles, or get up even earlier and hit the pool before work. Can't do that an be taking my boy to school though. OK, it was just the first week of the fall semester. Next week should set the tone for the rest of the year. I have to be in control of my time more than I was this week and figure out a way to protect time for my work-- not to be confused with my job.

Silver Cloud and living in Egypt

It took until my 3rd real ride on the beast until the ride not the motorcycle defined the experience. It is going to take a while until I get over the constant diligent fear that the motorcycle is suddenly going to fail, and instead, just enjoy the ride. After having ridden or mostly just owned a Norton since 1978, a bike you work on and sometimes ride, or don't work on and can't ride-- buying a BMW is quite a change. Silver Cloud-- 2002 BMW R1150RT with 18K miles, purchase from Grass Roads BMW in Cape Girardeau. I was so pleased with this dealership on many levels, it made the transaction and all my interactions a pleasure. Not to mention the bike. I am new to the BMW experience. Know for their jugs and shaft, the twin boxer engine and drive shaft make it a very distinct ride. Twin ABS disk brakes front and rear it has taken me several stops to learn to feather the front brake on. The rear brake a much more gradual arrest. And 1st gear is "pretty tall" as Brian the bike dealer informed me, so you have to rev it up to get it going. And it likes 4000 rpms or above, but with the high torque big twin 1150 cc motor, its easy to put along at 2800. Wind it up and it responds. It is a much different ride than the old Norton, to be sure. With the motor encased its a wider bike, and with the hard cases, it's even wider. But underneath the case is a rocket-- sporty, quick, nimble and ready to ride. GPS, electronic adjustable windshield, heated grips, gas gauge, fuel injectors (no petcocks to turn) all the modern features of an automobile compared to the sparse old Norton. Now that Silver Cloud (every sliver linning's got a touch of gray, and 1955-1964 Rolls Royce) has come home, I am oddly inspired to get the Norton back on the road. Last time I fired it up was 2.5 years ago, and it ran like a top. But riding in Chicago and the failure prone nature of the beast somehow deterred me-- not to mention that I was busy beyond belief and really devoted to spending my time with my family..... but now! yesterday I took Ryder for his first ride and we crested the hill leaving the driveway I heard him hoot "woo-hoo". And again, when I passed a car and accelerated around it, he shouted "alright!". He loves it. Of course he does! And the three of us are going to really enjoy riding around Egypt, two up is our only limitation.

We have so enjoyed our first two months in Carbondale, it is just wonderful. We love the house and living on the edge of the woods, and being just 4 miles from work. I am riding most days and the big hills seem to have flattened out already. On Friday Ryder and I rode in together, taking the back roads, down Neal Lane, past the high school, through the super fields where all the ball parks are, down College past the police station, coming out on Wall Street, right at the University. Neal lane is gravel so that makes it less than an ideal place to ride my road bike, but it slices out the big hills on Hunt Road, so it makes it easier in that way. This morning I took the Neal lane short cut, and it was nice being in the soybeans and corn on a country lane, instead of on Old 13, but the gravel, well, not great. I will take the pavement home so as to not deny myself the pleasure of riding up those hills on Hunt Road. I've only logged a 100 miles on my bicycle so far. The commute is pretty short and I've only been on one long ride-- to Makanda, and experienced the excitement and then pain of riding on big hills. As I zipped down Springer Ridge Road, I topped 40 mph and it scared the heck out of me, causing me to brake before I hit the big turn as Springer morphs into Makanda Road. Then I turned around and rode back up that hill, managing 4 mph on the steepest stretch, but not getting off and walking, so though it was slow, it was my triumph to make it to the top on my own. Riding up and down hills in the humidity and heat, is taking a bit to get used to.

And now we face the onslaught of the students-- the population of Carbondale will increase by 20,000 nearly doubling, and all at once. The locals are bracing themselves , the city is getting ready, and we wait, wondering how its going to be. Stay away from Walmart one of my colleagues warned-- and the grocery store shelves will by cleared off after the cloud of new student locusts picks them clean. Well, not going to Walmart will be no problem, and I figure that we mostly shop around the edges of the grocery store, and all the students are going to be shopping in the middle isles where all the prepared foods are shelved, so that shouldn't be so bad. And parking shouldn't bee too bad riding my bicycle or motorcycle. But still, they are our customers and they are why we are here, so bring 'em on!

And now, also, I face the truth of my lack of riding and indulgent eating-- lo all those pounds I have gained back. Enough! now it's time to get back into the groove and starting burning more calories than I consume. I spent all last week preparing a grant application post hosting the Held family reunion. Now, all that's left to do is work, so getting into the groove should be a pleasure. Working out with the students in the rec center, well one thing for sure, it is definitely going to be more crowded. That 6 AM Saluki master's swim club is starting to make more sense as does the p-diet revisited. No CHO, here we go.

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Carbon-Dale

There's an old joke on me, that if I were a (fill in the blank) I would be (fill in the blank)-Dale. Basketball player-- Airedale, wooddale, springdale etc. So, if I were an element I would be, you guessed it, Carbon-Dale. And so, here I am, in my element. And it really does seem to be so. It's not that I can't tell that I am here, its just hard to believe! Pinch me I must be dreaming. Ouch, no, that's not me pinching myself, its one of the innumerable flying, stinging biting insects that thrive in this sultry climate. With in my first 24 hours of living here my legs were covered with bites, and I have been lathering my legs with Bendryl lotion prior to liberal application of DEET. I have a new fondness for Backwoods Off.

After the movers had departed and we were alone in our new house, Ryder and I put on our gym shoes and socks and headed out in to the woods with Mirabel leading the charge. The woods behind our house and extending for 100s of acres beyond our property are dense with oak, hickory, sweet gum, dogwood-- all very tall and straight, reaching well over 75 feet by my estimation. We went as far as we could working our way around the fallen trees and soon found ourselves lost and disoriented. It took about 30 minutes bashing through the stinging nettles, wild roses, raspberries and fallen trees to catch sight of the house. We found the old fence lines that mark the property and navigated our way back to the house, our legs scratched and bitten. Fortunately we did not encounter poison ivy which is reported to be prevalent in these parts.

The terrible inland hurricane, now referred to as the derecho, causes huge damage to the woods and hundreds of these old tall trees were felled. The ground had been saturated by the very wet spring and when the straight line 100+ mph winds blew through here on May 8, the ground was not able to hold the roots and the trees toppled, one onto the other, literally like dominoes, and the line of fallen trees cut a narrow swath tens of miles long through the woods, bisecting Carbondale, causing millions of dollars of damage. Power was out for nearly a week and many homes suffered extensive damage. Our house was sparred any direct hits, though our immediate neighbors took a tree to the garage. One of our colleagues lost their rear deck to a fallen tree. The lovely path around Campus Lake is still impassable due to the carnage, if you could call it that. Huge oaks lay on their sides with only the limbs that blocked roads or knocked down power lines having been cut off and dragged out of the way. An inadvertent stimulus to the local economy, providing more work to laborers than has been available in these parts in years. The cleanup will go on for months, if not years. Until I go into the woods on Hales Acres with a chain saw, the fallen trees and tangle of broken limbs will remain. We will have enough firewood forever by the looks of it.

We left our empty Oak Park home at 2 PM on June 11th with Karen and Ryder in the Subaru with three cats and me driving the Mazda with two dogs. The cars were packed to the windows with all the stuff that didn't make it onto the moving van. Our caravan pulled into the drive way on Hunt Road at about 9 PM, in the gathering darkness. Our first delightful discovery was that we could pull both cars into the garage even with the Thule rack on top of Mister House. We closed the garage and opened the car doors and came into our new empty, clean house. Like a dream, only this time, this trip to Carbondale is the big move. We now live here. Really? Can it be true? Do we now really live in this fantastic house on this secluded beautiful wooded lot? Zowee.

We pitched out air mattresses and sleeping bags in the rose room and slept well until 7 the next morning when the movers called to say they were here but couldn't figure out how to get the truck to the house. The neighbors and the sellers both had expressed their doubts about a 54 foot tractor-trailer being able to make it to the house. When they had moved they had to shuttle between the house and the van parked in the Walmart lot. But our movers were determined and also talented and backed the moving truck over a half mile all the way down Hunt Road from old hiway 13. These guys were great. It took them all day, and half the next to unload the truck and move our vast possessions into the house-- and then move the stuff around to where we thought it should go. Then we went to SIU and they moved all the stuff into the lab. It only took a few hours to unload the lab, having a loading dock and elevators made short work of my 20 year collection of labware. The big New Brunswick environmental shaker was that last to come off the truck. So far only one causality was the nice Ikea floor lamp we bought to stage our OP house for showing (argggg) which was snapped in half. We did find one beer mug that was cracked when we unpacked the glasses, but who knows if it was that way before we packed it. Insurance will replace the lamp, but first we have to unpack the lab and the rest of our stuff to see if there is anything else that didn't make it. Considering that our stuff completely filled the van, all 31,000 pounds of it, one broken lamp is pretty insignificant.

We spent the better part of the time since we've lived here unpacking. The movers packed all our glassware and after we took it all out of the boxes we had a pile of paper up to the ceiling and a pile of flattened boxes 1/4 as high. Our new trash service is happy to haul all these recycleables away in stages. We rolled the paper and bundled the boxes and will feed them to the trash men over the next few weeks. The move gave us the opportunity to collect our various things into one collection of each. It is quite the collection of glasses we have. Some from my father's bar, some from Karen's mom, many from different purchases we've made through the years. Gads, we have enough glasses to equip a tavern! I suppose one of our near future purchases will be a dinning room set with table, hutch and buffet. This house has a formal dining room in addition to the kitchen dining area where the "distressed" old table I made over 30 years now resides. We were tempted to get a new dining room table to stage our house for sale, but our real estate agent convinced us that this old thing I built is tres chic, distressed is in. And this is the trusty and very firm surface this computer rests on while I type this. Glad to be inside on this Father's Day enjoying the A/C. Its well over 90 already and rather humid. This part of being in my element is questionable. I grew up in the dry Colorado air and living in the tropics is going to be the biggest adjustment to living here, as far as I can tell so far. We just love the pace of life of a college town in the summer, and sure don't miss the traffic and crush of people in far off Chicago. We all miss our friends but are so happy to be together, all us here in this paradise. As we took possession of the house, the night of our closing, our new neighbor, also the head of department at SIU, greeted us with "welcome to paradise." I am beginning to appreciate what he meant.

One last ride through the Big Ugly

At long last its come to this. My last day at UIC, my last bike ride commuting through the west side, one last look at the Big Ugly. We had a great group ride in this morning-- the Oak Park Bike Gang, missing only Cliff, the originator of the phrase "Big Ugly", and of course Moe Sullivan, who was with us in spirit, as he always is on these rides. As I rode slowly across Oak Park I was nearly overwhelmed with emotion, missing this amazing town I've lived in for 20 years, even before we've finished packing and moved away. The quiet streets at 6:20 AM, the air thick with moisture from the big rains last night, it was a wonderful glimpse of Oak Park at its best, early morning in the late spring. Eight of us gathered at the west end of Columbus park, and as we prepared to ride, the early morning walkers came by and we got them to shoot a group photo. I think we've seen them nearly every morning for the last several years. As we posed for the photo instead of saying cheese, we were instructed to say "Je-sus!" Blessed be. We rounded the park avoiding Lake Columbus and made our way down Harrison to Laramie where we were greeted by the paper vendors "where everybody at" and "my favorite Caucasians" their standard greetings. After we breezed through the deserted streets of K town, not a gansta in sight, or good old Lucky, we crossed I290 at Kostner and found Mr. Icecream selling his papers, waiting to greet us. Only this time all 8 of us stopped in the median, shook his hand, bid him farewell, and Paul gave him the gift card to Baskin Robins. Years ago he started calling us "ice cream" because of Bob Hake's bike bell. Lately he's been wearing a bike bell around his neck to greet us. He calls Elissa "Lady Icecream" and her son when he rode with us "Junior Icecream". Today we learned that his name is Gregory Pierre and he is a musician. Maybe we've heard him at the Monroe stop on the blue line? Photos were taken and we bid him farewell. One last stop along the way-- the welder at Latham Industries. He has given us the fist in the air salute for the last several years. He is as constant as the morning dew, all these sentinels along the way are-- this time we stopped and chatted with Travis, learning his name for the first time. I told him that I admired his work ethic, and he said, everyday for 21 years. Salt of the earth. People who think of the west side as some great abyss, the dark unknown on either side of the express way just don't know- these good honest hard working folks who have looked out for us as we ride through their neighborhood. It has been a humbling and enlightening experience, one I will cherish. But not miss. Not the glass on the road, the traffic, having to touch down at 40 intersections on the way in. The few gansta teens who terrorized me last fall. I am off to greener rides, in the hills of southern Illinois. The Big Ugly is a beautiful thing, not the land, not the decrepit abandoned buildings, not the concertina wire-- but the people. Thank you for watching over us. And thank you Paul, Elissa, Bob, Bob, Bill, Sue and Scott for giving me such a memorable last ride through the Big Ugly, and a great breakfast too. Now if I make it home safe, I got it made.....

Listen to the thunder shout I am I am

What shall we say, shall we call it by a name
As well to count the angels dancing on a pin
Water bright as the sky from which it came
And the name is on the earth that takes it in
We will not speak but stand inside the rain
And listen to the thunder shout
I am, I am, I am, I am

Weather Report Suite, May 5, 2009, Allstate Arena, last song, first set. Resonating, vibrating, the music sings in me still. I was transported through the time-space continuim, 1983, Red Rocks, the Grateful Dead, the storm gathering over the eastern Colorado plains.... Phil Lesh's booming bass crashing off the rocks encompassing the amphitheater, the thunder gathering, the lightening, the looming rain-- and listen to the thunder shout-- I am, I am, I am, I am..... Fist clenched, jumping up and down, arms raised exultantly into the air, the whole crowd throbbing, jumping, shouting in unison.... I am, I am.... May 2009. Sitting in the banker's corner office, Carbondale, completing the mortgage application. Fish bowl view of the storm... "we will not speak but stand inside the rain....." thunder crahses, the wind howls, the power goes off. Like the scene in the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy's house is spinning and trees are flying by.... I saw a guy on a bicycle trying to ride into the wind, telephone poles snapping off and blowing by like tooth picks. We watch the storm, then the banker completes the computations on his hand held calculator. Everyone else in the bank is hunkered down, ready to retreat to the bank vault. The rain and wind stop and the sun comes out. I shake hands, excited about the purchase of our new home, pleased to be so well treated and highly regarded as a new Carbondale resident. Out side the extent of the damage from the 100 mph straight line winds is barely comprehensible. Branches broken and trees strewn everywhere. Power lines dangling across every street. Everyone out looking around, amazed. Grateful. Just the power out, just some wind damage, no death, no injury. No movement of traffic. As I attempted to drive my rental car back to the Ford dealer, I became increasingly aware of just what a mess the storm had made of my soon to be new home town. It took an hour to drive 1.5 miles. The poor little Focus sustained cracked windshield and it looked like someone pounded it with a hammer. The night before at the Holiday Inn over 20 cars in the parking lot had their windshields broken from the hail and wind. Two storms in 12 hours, the first golf ball size hail and winds. The second, like a tornado with out the rotation. I was really worried about being able to leave Carbondale to get back to Oak Park. Due to track work, amazingly poorly timed by the rail road to coincide with graduation weekend at Southern the biggest egress of people all year, the train stopped in Effingham and finished the last 100 miles via motorcoach, a.k.a. bus. It was a deluxe bus with DVD players, but a bus none the less. The buses had just arrived when the Ford rental guy dropped me at the station. They were caught in the storm, navigating their way around the downed limbs and power lines. I noticed the drivers head to Boobies, so I got my first meal in 8 hours sitting next to them in the ambient light, now well recognized by Joy, the shift manager who makes a mean sandwich. I knew I wouldn't be left behind, sitting at the bar eating next to the drivers. We boarded the bus and headed straight up 51, avoiding the disaster on highway 13. The drive through southern Illinois' back roads all the way north to I64 was beautiful, bucolic, pastoral-- not like the terrain around Chicago. In fact, north of I-70/Effingham is when the topography changes, from flat to hills. It is going to be quite a nice change, being in a more natural world. No longer in the flight path of Ohare. We won't hear the traffic on the Eisenhower or the El thundering past. Or helicopters hovering over the highway reporting on the 20 mile long traffic jams. In stead, we will hear the thunder shouting-- I am, I am.... I am.....

Dead bookends: Tennessee Jed

It was November 1978 and I had flown to Chicago, my first visit to the Windy City, to see the Grateful Dead for a 3 night stand at the Uptown Theater with my old pal Casey. Due to rather unfortunate events and harrowing circumstances, we did not make it to the first show, and recovering from the *events* caused us to miss the 2nd show. Determined to see at least one show, I ventured on my own via the CTA from 85th and Kedzie to the Uptown-- which unto itself for a Colorado boy was quite an adventure. I scored a ticket outside the the theater and found my seat in the cavernous old movie palace. It was a tremendous show, especially enjoyable after all the trouble we'd endured in the past few days. The first set ended with a rousing version of Tennessee Jed, the first time I'd heard it performed in concert. I remember queuing up for the bathroom and talking with a Chicago dead head who had a very different look from the out west heads. A white shirt, black pants and wild long curly black hair. He had an edge to him relative to the mellow fellow deads I knew in Boulder. We agreed enthusiastically about how stellar the rendition of Jed was that we had just experienced. That was my first Chicago Dead show, probably one of the first 20 or so shows I'd seen. Quite an amazing venue. It was so amazingly hot in the Uptown despite being November in Chicago. All that took place during that fateful visit to Chicago is another story.

Flash forward 30 years and 6 months later to May 5, 2009 to the Allstate Arena in Rosemont the Chicago suburb that surrounds Ohare. We have yet one more thing to thank Barack Obama for-- the Dead reunited to support his campaign, and had such a good experience this time around, they decided to go on tour. All four of the originals, plust Waren Haynes and Jeff Kimeti, and they go deep into their song book for this tour. This was my last Dead show in Chicago as a resident of Chicagoland. Now my shows number into the 150s. Grateful Dead shows stopped at #83, but int he 14 years since Jerry died, I have continued to go to Dead, Phil and Friends, Rat Dog, Further festivals to catch any reincarnation of the good old Grateful Dead. And the show was splendid! Ironically, this my *last* show, just like that first show at the Uptown, Casey was supposed to go and couldn't. The parking lot was spectacular, with several rows of tents and booths with the commerce of the dead heads thriving like the Marakesh market place. Food and tie-dye, beers and bongs, liquor and fajitas, hugs and kisses all around. No fear of swine flu here. In places the crowd was intense, in other islands where the flow ebbed, we could pause and soak it all in. Being among our tribe and thriving on the vibe, the prelude to the show that set the tone. I had Casey's ticket and wandered around looking for a potential buyer, but all of the ticket seekers, many of them rasta clad hairy underarmed young hippie girls were looking for a miracle. A delightful sight, and fun to consider gifting them, but watching for a few minutes revealed that these miracle seekers were lurking with their boy friends or clan mates, and were hawking the tickets they scored. So Zech and Mars and I wandered through the throng, enjoy the vibe and taking in the sights, while I awaited inspiration. And then she appeared. Alone, truly and genuinely seeking a ticket, despearately hoping for a miracle. I gave her the ticket and she was moved beyond words by her great fortune. She threw her arms around me and gave me a big lingering hug, then kissed me, and kept thanking me. It was gratifying to have found such a grateful and worthy recipient of the ticket, and it was not unpleasant to have been rewarded by her warm embrace. My two compadres enjoyed watching her response, and we all three sighed as she went skipping off ecstatic with her miracle.

We navigated our way into the venue, surviving search and seirzure with good humor and amusement. Zech's complicated concert approach garnered some additional scrutiny, and his painted face was smiling and beaming the whole while the Rosemont cop tossed his fanny pack. Many concert goers seemed to suffer through discovery at the hands of the cops, but we had nothing to hide and sailed to our seats. And outstanding seats they were! Getting tickets by mail order from GDTSTOO is a very good idea, and it seats you adjacent other knowing folks. And everyone was happy to be there. From teenagers to old farts like us, we were all there for the show. And what a show it was. As the boys starting tooling around, getting set for the opener, I thought I caught a hint of Tennessee Jed, but was surprised by Dancin' in the Streets-- dancing in Chicago! what a great way to open the show. And then--the 2nd song, Tennessee Jed. And a rousing rendition. Warren Haynes covering Jerry's vocals and guitar, quite admirably, but he has made it his own. I was transported to that show back through the years, and reminisced fondly about all the wonderful concert expereiences I've had since I've lived in Chicago. The band was great, the sound excellent and crowd enthused. Some real gems-- Unbroken Chain, a song I have only heard live 2 or 3 times and Phil was in good voice. Truckin! yes, what a long strange trip its been! And the closer was Know You Rider one of those special songs for me. The encore was perfect-- Broke Down Palace and the crowd sang along turning the Allstate Arena into a cathedral, a church filled with 10,000 voices in the choir. And there can be no other song after that one-- fare thee well as we are going home, gonna rest my bones, listen to the river sing this song. yes, mama, many roads I've known since I first left home. Thank you, I will be forever grateful.

Hales Acres

For a year now we have been considering housing in Carbondale, certainly one of the recruiting devices employed by SIU was showing us the favorable housing options in the Carbondale area. It was just a year ago, for the second interview, when Karen and Ryder and I drove down, that we got our first tour of real estate with Marcia. I believe it was that very trip when we saw what became known as the Victorian Legend, and the focus of much thought and planning as the year unfolded. We even made an offer on the 40 acre farm with the grand old Victorian house. Meanwhile, we saw the housing market take a nose dive as the Bush fueld economic disaster dashed our hopes of cashing in on our prime real estate in Oak Park. Despite not having a clear prospect for selling our house, we threw our hat into the ring and offered the appraised amount for the farm. I think its safe to safe we never really felt completely comfortable with the prospect. The main problem being the house. Magnificent Victorian built in 1895 and "completely restored" with new wiring, heat/AC, kitchen etc. It was truly impressive, but it was still so very much like the house we own in Oak Park, a 1913 mini-Victorian, small rooms, no closets, in adequate bathrooms. When the sellers of Victorian wouldn't budge and we couldn't come closer that $70,000 on the deal, we just let it slide and recommenced our serious house hunting venture. This time with refined criteria: as new of a house as possible, with as much land as close to work as we could find. This actually revealed dozens of new options. We spent the last weekend of April in Carbondale, staying at the ever so quaint Pin Oak Motel on the out skirts of town, and toured 12 properties. We had our hopes on the 7 acre place in Blackhawk but it was a real disappointment. Great if we wanted to go into the horse business, but it was a tiny house. The second house we saw, on South Hunt Road, seemed to have just what we were looking for, it was built 1994, 4200 square feet, 5 bedrooms, 3 full baths on 1.5 acres on a secluded lot. As we continued to tour other properties, ranging from rustic to McMansion, we narrowed down our search to three properties. After visiting all three for the second time the house on South Hunt Road, not only emerged as our top choice for this trip, but in fact, was just exactly what we were looking for. I had hoped for more acreage, but this property backs up onto the woods and is just 2 miles west of Crab Orchard National Wildlife area, and though it has just 1.5 acres, the wooded lot goes on forever. It is secluded, but in an 8 property subdivision with lots of 1.5 to 18 acres. It is just 3.8 miles from SIU, so it is secluded, but not remote. We drove back to Oak Park and as soon as we got home called Marcia and made an offer. In marked contrast to the owners of the Victorian farm, the owners of the Hunt Road property do want to sell. We offered, they countered, meeting us half way, and accepted all of the contigencies. Having been preapproved for the loan for the Victorian and having navigated our way through the sales contract with the failed deal, makes doing this deal smooth as silk. I am returning to Carbondale this week for the home inpsection and mortgage application and on the 29th the three of us return for the closing. I think we will camp out in the house after the closing-- an empty nest, soon to be filled with all our stuff that has been stored away for these last months, and our pets who will love the new wilderness they will inhabit. Hales Acres, 724 South Hunt Road. Now, if we can only sell our *other* house....

The Last Lab Meeting

February 14, 1990, I did the first experiment in my new laboratory, the newly founded Hales Lab. On April 30, 2009, the last experiment was performed in this incarnation of the Hales Lab. Ironically, neither experiment worked. The first experiment, I recall clearly, was interuppted by some faculty business, a committee meeting I believe. The last was done amidst the chaos of closing down the lab. And so, it was a very poignent moment for me, when we sat at our weekly lab group meeting and discussed the real-time PCR analysis of the effect of flax diet on E-cadherin expression in the chicken ovary, an experiment done in tandem by Kristine and Amanda, and it was clear, that in order to get this asaay to work, we would have to purchase more sybr green, trouble shoot the primers, possibly make fresh cDNA from the chicken ovarian cancer samples.... meanwhile Cassie is busy packing up the lab. So, I called finis and said "let's pull the plug" and choked up, tears welling in my eyes. Now is the time of innumerable farewells, the going away parties, the last luncheons, the big college of medicine reception and it will be hard not to get emotional. But this moment, of stopping the active experimentation in my laboratory really hit me. It will be a few months before we have the new lab unpacked and ready to go. Fortunately Kristine's work will continue here in Joanne's lab, and we are working on the two manuscripts, with Yan's data now complete, the figure's made and the methods written. But no more experiments. It is rather unnerving. Not to say I am not busy. I am preparing a grant for the Department of Defense Ovarian Cancer Idea award, due June 2nd, submitted at SIU from here. And of course, packing up the lab and my office. I have jetisoned vast amounts of reprints and academic records which I have so fastidiously retained. Getting rid of all this stuff now should remind me not to save so much crap in the future. eh?

Turn this beast into the wind

That Steve Earle song, The Other Kind, really struck a note with me while I was working out this morning. "Here of late all this real estate don't seem all that real to me sometimes/ I'm back out on that road again/ gonna turn this beast into the wind..." Of course any song which pays homage to Jack Kerouac has to be a good song. I have been turning my beast into the wind all spring long. The relentless wind off Lake Michigan. Spring is winter fighting with summer, and this year winter is waging a relentless battle. The promise of warmer days is like the sun shining through my back door. Ah the bike, the road, the ride to work, the glass the gangstas and the traffic-- its all wonderful, its all out doors and its where I'd really rather be.

As I mounted the Concept 2 rowing machine this morning, the sun was shining in to the corner of the gym where the rowers live, and I felt this strange elation. The tunes on my music player were just right and I cranked out 5000 meters in 23:28. The bike, the rowing machine both let me go full out, 110% effort with NO PAIN. None of the bad kind of pain anyway, plenty of screaming quads and pounding heart, sweat stinging my eyes-- you know the good kind of pain. Not the case with running. Triumphant though I was, to finish a 5K in 33:33, running the whole way, and I really enjoyed just loping along, having long ago given up any time goals. But the pain was real and it was not the good kind. My damn knees are shot. Meniscus erosion causing bone on bone shooting pain down my outside lower legs. The pain is not in the knee, its in my anterior tibialis and peronius longorus. The race was on Sunday, I was pretty sore all day, but by Monday felt OK. But testing my legs doing squats the last two days revealed the extent of the pathology. Two legged squats are fine, I can go well below 90 degrees, but the one legged squats really exacerbate the pain. As I bend my knee I cross a certain point and the pain shoots down my leg. I can pass through this threshold several times with successive one legged squats, but then I begin to collapse, unable to hold my weight on one bent leg. Yikes. Not a good feeling.

What really freaked me out this year was discovering that same pain when skiing. No say it ain't so! My week in Vancouver, two days at Grouse and one day at Blackcomb in the heavy pacific northwest snow and I was trashed. I could survive as a slow and intermittant runner, but I refuse to ceed skiing to the unfair gods of aging. Despite the difficulty with my one-legged squats, as usual I did a handstand against the wall and then attacked the rowing machine. It was a bit challenging at first, the deep knee compression, but the tunes, the sunlight, the endorphins soon transported me into a 34 stroke per minute rythm, with a deep breath on each stroke. I could see my reflection in the sun lit window and watched my form, feeling the core muscles carve out each pull on the drive, the slight back bend and chest thrust on the finish, and the C-shape in my back as I reached through the recovery for the catch. Rowing is wonderful exercise. It is interesting that my 5K times for rowing are comparable to my 5K times running when I was at my peak, in my mid 40s. 21:30 PR but any 5K under 23 was fast for me. My average rowing times for 5K are 22:38 PR to sub 24 on a good day. Today's 23:28 felt great. The online rowing log at Concept2 allows me to compare my 5K times with other men in my age and weight group. The fastest times are in the 16's-- an admirable time if that were to be a 5K road race for sure. And I have about as much chance of hitting 16 rowing as I did running back in the day.

March winds and April fools

The sun is shining more strongly every day and at last the cruel mantle of winter is being lifted from weather weary Chicago. Not lifted, actually, but blown away. March was a very rainy wet month with 6.26 inches of rain, the most ever in March (as recorded since 1928 at Midway Airport). Not a very good month for bike commuting. Now as the sun warms the earth and summer fights with winter for spring, the winds are howling. My rides home in the last two weeks have been brutal. The wind was blowing so hard and steady straight out of the west, that it was all I could do to stay on my peddles. I went through an underpass and up into the wind and the current of air was so strong I actually felt like I was being stood still, even pushed backwards and over, when actually, I just slowed to 9 mph. It took an hour to ride home through those big blows, and I felt completely whacked when I finally made it to Oak Park. But the west wind is bringing the warmth, and the thermometer is easing up, ever closer to 50, lifting out of the 40s-- and the sun is shining oh so brightly. I always claim that a sunny day is a nice day, regardless of the temperature. In Chicago that means it probably -20, but sunny and clear. I suspect that my feelings about the sun will change as we head south to Egypt. Hot and humid? bring it on!

My rides have also been punctuated by a series of flat tires. Last week I was riding home and was right in the heart of K-town, ground zero for bike commuter-gangsta interactions, when my front tire went flat. I was hard pressed for time, struggling through the wind, but anxious to get home to take over Ryder duty so Karen could go to work. I stopped and reached for my cell phone-- dead! Yikes. I knew with my hand held pump it would take me too long to change and inflate my tire, so I was calling to seek rescue. I was too far between El stops and it was rush hour so no bikes allowed on the train anyway. And the #7 would only get me to the east side of Columbus park, still too far to walk my bike home in time for Karen to make it to work. I saw three guys sitting in the cab of a moving truck and rolled my bike over and asked to use their phone. Kindly the guy in the passenger side handed me his phone-- it was in Spanish, but the buttons still did the same thing and soon I was in contact with Karen and we agreed to meet at Harrison and Cicero about 3 blocks west of where I landed. The gents in the truck were kind and helpful and I am so grateful to them. I rolled my bike down the sidewalk which gave me the *opportunity* to interact with the denizens of the west side. Mostly friendly, some cajoling, but none too threatening. I waited in front of the liquor store and many folks headed in to pick up their 44s in brown paper bags made comments to me as they came and went. It only took Karen 15 minutes to fetch me, and she dropped me and Ryder and my bike at home and drove off to work.

My bike work area has been dislocated and disassembled for the house showings, but it didn't take long to get everything together and repair the tire. I did not have a replacement tube as it turned out, so I wouldn't have been able to fix the flat on the road anyway. This discovery was a bit unnerving. So I attempted to patch and repair the tube and found all the cement in the ancient repair kits was dried up. I put on glueless patches, inflated the tire to test, and the patches came right off. Useless! So, I somehow managed to find a tube which I tested underwater and found no leaks, but was a little concerned about as it went flat on me once standing overnight. Loose valve or something? I installed it and pumped it up and then figured out that I had over inflated the tires-- only 70 psi for these fat boys (37s) and I had them pumped up to 85 or 90. So I deflated both tires to the right pressure and when I checked them in the morning, they were still just as hard. So far, so good.

Until this morning that is. It seems to me that 70 psi is just too soft and the tires noticeably flatten out under my massive weight. I didn't notice that the front tire was in fact just a little too flat, and when I jumped on the bike and took off, I got to the first corner and the tire gave out and I went crashing to the sidewalk. I lay there on my back, still clipped in like a turtle on its back not able to get up. Now usually at 6:25 AM there is no one on our street, but this morning there happened to be people walking to work and cars driving by. I was unscathed, just a bit embarrassed, and also concerned about the flat. Undeterred, I rolled back home, pumped up the tire and hit the road. The whole ride I kept hoping the tire would remain inflated. I felt like I was in a Viagra commercial and kept chanting "stay hard, stay hard." The tire did manage to stay hard all the way in. Fingers crossed for the return trip. I missed my buddies at the meeting place, but they rode the long way around the park to avoid Lake Columbus, which did not deter me. So when I emerged from the path at the east end of the park, Elissa and Paul were just riding up. It was lovely riding in with them this morning. A gorgeous but still chilly morning. The sun glinting of the shattered glass strewn over the road (I had picked a half dozen shards out of my flatted tire last week) and the strong smell of the 24 hour Maxwell Street hot dog stand permeated the cool morning air-- features of the ride I savor, but so look forward to leaving behind. Only a few more weeks of surviving the ride through the Big Ugly and my bike commutes through the west side will be over.

When a house is not a home

At long last 939 Wisconsin is on the market (MLS #: 07174364). Wow, what a long strange trip this has been. More than six months of intense activity and work while we watched the realestate market plummet. Like Ryder said, we don't need to buy a new house, we have a new house. This is what we did.

• new construction, porch conversion to office/vestibule with crawlspace, upgrade electric to 200 AMP service.
• remove stairwell wall paper and new paint
• pack up all the stuff (part one) and move 30 boxes of books to new crawlspace
  
• finish molding/baseboard trim projects (in progress for >15 years)
  
• living room paint and sand and refinish hardwood floors
• master bedroom, carpet removal, wall repair and new paint
• load up POD with 1/2 our belongings
• donate 1/4 of our belongings to charity
• bathroom paint
• 3rd bedroom clear out, repair and repaint
• sunroom stain and finish baseboard, repair veneer on paneling, paint ceiling
• kitchen repair plaster and repaint
• clear out and clean out basement
• hire Olga to do deep cleaning including blinds
• hire McMahon to clean windows in and out
• rearrange furniture, put down new rugs
• trim yews and paint front steps, clean flower beds
• pack up even more stuff
• clear out pantry
• throw out even more stuff

Now, all that we need to do is find a new place to park my commuter bike and make the vestibule into a room, instead of a bike garage (grudgingly).

And then we can start to work on the yard and garden, which we would naturally do now anyway.

Now we have to walk on eggshells, don't make messes, keep the house spotless and free of clutter, and hope that someone likes the house as much as we do and will turn it back into a home.

though I must say, last night cooking dinner in my own kitchen was an act of great and restorative normalcy.

ok, deep breath. I guess I better get some real work done. Med lectures, grant and paper writing, and oh yeah, packing up the lab. At least no one is going to come to my office tosee if they want to buy this place. My office and lab are now my refuge.

on thin ice

It is a metaphor for being in a precarious position, but this morning the old adage "being on thin ice" was literally where I found myself-- shortly before I crashed with a thud and skidded on my back across said ice. This tome could be entitled "ode to lake Columbus" and anyone whose made the ride from Oak Park to Chicago via the Harrison street route knows about the low side of the park, just east of the woods and south of the golf course. It was impassable just a few weeks ago with nearly two feet of accumulated and crusted snow. Now it looks like it often does during the wet season, a path covered with just a few inches of water at the most, with a high point in the middle. the isthmus which provides a nearly dry passage to the other side. Emboldened by my fenders and fat tires, I tempted fate this morning and thought I could ride through. I had not counted on the ice, that it was just thick enough to get me several yards out before I broke through, and that when I got past the deep part it was frozen hard again. So, the wheels sunk and I had to use my foot to push along, lucky to find a narrow strip of frozen grass to gain enough of a purchase to propel myself. The my wheels came out of the water, onto the frozen solid eastern edge of the "lake" and I clipped back on and began to peddle. I crossed an island of dry asphalt and I gained some momentum and hit the next frozen spot, which was just about 10 feet wide and as soon as my rear wheel hit the ice it shot out from under me and I found myself hitting the frozen ground hard and my bike sliding away. I was on my back and skidded around trying to gain my feet. I stood up, walked to my bike and the found the chain had come off the ring, but that was the only damage. One foot was soaked with ice water and my elbow, shoulder and butt were singing, but once I got back on the road, I was OK. The saddle bags got scraped and I got road rash on my pants, not my legs, so no big deal. I feel a bit creaky and sore, but my clothes did not tear and the bike was unscathed. Like the song says "just a little shaken from the fall." but I am not a china cat sunflower, just a sun dawg, and survived my trip acrross the thin ice just fine. I decided I better pick an alternative way home, however.

Friday the 13th-- and if that is the only bad thing that happens, then I have nothing to worry about. I feel like a man divided as the duties downstate begin to have their demands on me while I am still up to my eyeballs in work at this place. Planning the move, transfering the inventory and equipment from UIC to SIU, finishing up my teaching, while planning the start up for my lab, interveiw new hires to staff my lab and supervising the rennovations for the department is all nearly too much. All of this on top of my real work-- writing the papers, reviewing the grants and manuscripts, desiinging the experiments and interpreting the data-- the good stuff you know. It is no wonder I feel like I am on thin ice. The ice flow UIC is cracking and breaking away from behind me as I scrambled moving forward trying not to be sucked into the abyss, yet slipping and sliding as I grapple to get across to the other side SIU. Three months and two days the Hales Lab at UIC officially closes it doors. Ok breathe.