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September 27, 2006

And While I'm Dreaming

This is my dream Porteur--Mary bars, Nexus 7 speed hub, smaller front rack. All it needs is a dynohub/front light combo.

Dream Bikes and Back to the Beginning

Kogswell has officially released its Porteur/Randonneur into production. 'Tis pretty:

Very nice, though I might prefer it with some weird Nitto bars instead of the drops. Additionally, Rivendell has released the Bleriot, a more cost-friendly version of their Saluki 650B/Porteur model.

And, after switching the gearing on the Surly a few times this week, I've settled back into running 39x16, the first combination I ran when I started riding a fixed gear. With the hilly populaire looming, I wanted to settle on a gear that wouldn't destroy my knees on the climbs, yet still provide a reasonable amount of speed on the flats and descents. It's also a nice gear for the commute, since it is a touch taller than my old 42x18 fallback gearing.

September 24, 2006

Ace of Spades Alleycat

After a near miss and bent rim in the last race, I decided to approach this event as a nice day riding around the city. No need to risk life and limb. Enjoy the weather.

Yeah, right.

The race was a poker run: five checkpoints, at each of which you would be given a playing card. At the finish, you would play your hand (given one chance to swap cards). Points were given to order of finish and to your poker hand. Most points won. Oh, and there was a catch--some of the checkpoints would require something of you to get the card. The checkpoints were:

* The North Side trail, under the West End Bridge.
* Friendship Park.
* Mellon Park.
* Flagstaff Hill.
* REI, South Side

The race started in Armstrong Park, South Side. The consensus among those gathered was the clockwise loop (in the order listed above) was superior to the counter-clockwise loop, which likely require a climb up Bates Street. This was mistake number one. After I had decided on this route, I thought I could cut a bit of distance off the end of the ride by using the trail system in Schenley to promptly get to the South Side. Never once did it occur to me that I could use this same trail system to avoid the Bates climb. Oh well. This is how my little brain work sometimes, I suppose.

We were off. Traffic was thick on Carson Street, and the combination of my timidness and my wide handlebars had me second guessing the gaps between cars. I missed the green light at 10th Street, and I was already a block behind. As we approached the Smithfield Street Bridge, I noted that the pack was chosing to use the West End Bridge. No thanks--I don't particularly like that span in the car. So I crossed the Smithfield Street Bridge, cut through town, and across the pedestrian walkway on the Fort Duquesne Bridge, and caught the North Side trail between the stadia.

Bad idea #2.

Thanks to a Pitt game, the sidewalks and trail were teeming with people, thus considerably slowing my progress. Once I had my card, I cut throught the Science Center parking lot and worked my way back to town on the street rather than dealing with the crowds on the trail again. Once through town, I was on Smallman Street and spied two racers roughly two blocks ahead of me. Both of them were on geared bikes, so I pedaled furiously to keep pace, with the intention of making up ground on the grind up Penn. As we approached Penn I formulated my plan for the hill. I was tired--there had been a solid headwind through most of the ride, and it was considerably worse in the Strip. I didn't have enough water either. But, knowing how Penn typically feels, I knew I could probably ride my own pace and at least close the gap. Then again, knowing how Penn feels, I decided to push the pace a bit.

As I zig-zagged from Smallman to Penn, I noticed the group (now three) had already broken up a bit on the initial rise. It was then that an old feeling, one from the day's of soccer camp two-a-days and cross country running, came over me. It's a creeping dread about the task at hand, one that will require you dig a bit deeper and hurt just a little more. I wanted to jump out of the saddle and mash away to catch them, but I stopped myself and settled into a smoother rhythm. Within another block I had closed the gap on the last of the three, and within another block I passed her. We exchanged pleasantries and stood up to slip back to the right along the line of parked cars. Number two was another block or so ahead.

At this point I probably bonked a bit. Not a full blown, hitting-the-wall thing, more of a wow-this-hurts-a-lot thing. I pulled up to the rear wheel of the second rider, and we both paused at the red light at 40th Street. I pulled away on green, realizing that the first rider had made the green light and was a few blocks ahead by now. It was no use trying to make up that ground now. I approach Friendship Park and see a group of racers zoom in front of me. Why aren't they just cutting across the park? I think. Then I find the answer. In order to get the card for the checkpoint, you are required to take a Champs d'Elysees -style lap around the oval. A minute later I pocket my card and heard for Mellon Park.

This checkpoint, and the ride to Flagstaff were uneventful. Then things went wrong. After collecting my card at Flagstaff, I slipped behind Phipps and to the trail that leads to Panther Hollow, and eventually the Jail Trail. Unfortunately, this trail was closed. So I backtracked, and instead of changing my plan and blasting down Bates, I descended the stairs into Panther Hollow.

Bad idea #3.

Bouncing on the rough trail to the lake, I could at least take solace in the fact that my front wheel build seemed to be handling the pounding quite well. Then, finally, I was on 2nd Avenue, ready to cross the Hot Metal Bridge and collect my last card at the REI in the South Side Works. Approaching Armstrong Park via Carson, another racer, who had flatted on Penn caught me, further impressing upon the error of my ways. We got to the park together, finishing just outside the top ten. Oh, and those folks I passed on Penn? They had just beat me back. Yes, bad navigation was my undoing again.

Thanks to a decent poker hand (two pair) I squeezed into the top ten overall. Lucky.

September 22, 2006

The End

The New Pantagruel has shuttered its windows. I have greatly appreciated the work of my former classmate Caleb Stegall and new acquintance Dan Knauss (and the rest of their co-conspirators), and their articulated philosophy has informed, in part, our lifestyle. I am very grateful that, for a time, my name was associated with the project as their web lackey. It is worth reprinting their parting words here:

After a three year run, The New Pantagruel is closing shop. Our incursion was never intended to be a long one. We are not careerists and had no intention or ambition to become part of the media establishment, Christian or otherwise. We did wish to demonstrate that such populist anti-liberal incursions were possible, and occasionally desirable. Against a chorus of establishment naysayers, The New Pantagruel succeeded on a shoestring budget and without any insider access in garnering national attention and influence, particularly within the elite Christian press and some political outlets. Our voice was primarily a voice of dissent, and it has been heartening to know that such voices can still capture the spirit of a large number of diffuse people and perspectives in today’s managed climate of “centrist” opinion.

Ours can largely be summed up as a localist, decentralist, anarcho-Christian and authentically conservative approach to politics and culture. As we have written previously, we believe that to suffer one’s place and one’s people in the particularity of its and their needs is the only true basis for finding love, friendship, and an authentic, meaningful life. This is nothing less than the key to the pursuit of Christian holiness, which is the whole of the Christian adventure: to live in love with the frailty and limits of one’s existence, suffering the places, customs, rites, joys, and sorrows of the people who are in close relation to you by family, friendship, and community--all in service of the truth, goodness, and beauty that is best experienced directly. The discipline of place teaches that it is more than enough to care skillfully and lovingly for one’s own little circle, and this is the model for the good life, not the limitless jurisdiction of the ego, granted by a doctrine of choice, that is ever seeking its own fulfillment, pleasure, and satiation.

Taking that charge seriously, The New Pantagruel has, essentially, argued itself out of existence. This is a good thing. In the end, we are pessimistic romantics. We believe life is eucatastrophic: a joyous catastrophe. Instead of spending endless hours before the faceless void of the “new media,” we will be engaging the tragedies and necessities of raising families, rebuilding neighborhoods and small towns, and fighting to preserve and save that which we love. As we dive back into the particularities of our places and people and their needs, we hope you will do the same. And remember, Fr. Jape is watching you.

September 15, 2006

The Road Ahead

After speaking with a few folks via the NJ Randonneurs message board, I've decided that I will most certainly ride the Surly for the Eastern PA Populaire next month. I waivered a bit, given the lay of the land, but several riders noted that as long as I wasn't afraid to walk my bike up the worst of the climbs, I wouldn't have any problems finishing within the time limit. I'm not sure how much "training" I'll do for the event besides a few longer (50 mile-ish) rides. The biggest question now is gearing--do I still with my current 45x18, size up an inch or two to 42x16, or play it safe with 42x18? None of those choices will get up the worst of the hills (the Saucon Valley climbs--and remember, I'll be heading back after 30 miles or so, since the elevation map is for the 200k brevet), so it be best to run 42x16 to provide a bit more speed on the shorter climbs and descents.

September 14, 2006

Two Things

First, at Caelum et Terra, Daniel Nichols examines the difference between policy and theology/philosophy, and why Christians really only have a single choice in such matters.

Second, Fr. Neuhaus discusses the often rocky relationship between faith and reason and how, perhaps, Christians should approach mending that relationship.

September 12, 2006

Home Again, Home Again

And I see we've brought the rain with us. Some random thoughts and observations after nearly six days in the car....

* The Ramada Limited was the best deal going as far as lodging goes. Large room, indoor pool, nice continental breakfast, and free wireless, all for under $80.

* Though it seems counter-intuitive, it's better to avoid the back seat when your children are upset. Oren did much better when we were ignoring him.

* Iowa has free wireless at their rest areas.

* Nebraska has tons of art at its rest areas.

* It is nearly impossible for us to climb without an extra hand.

* Denver is James Howard Kunstler's worst nightmare. Every bit of open space (and there is a lot) is being converted to housing developments or strip malls.

* Boulder is expensive. I mean, really expensive.

September 10, 2006

More on Ellul, Neocalvinists

Macht has an informative post regarding alternative Neocalvinist views on Ellul, specifically those of Egbert Schuurman, who found Ellul's critique of Technique rather useful. Schuurman, in fact, sounds almost Ellulian/Illichian in his perspective:

It needs to be understood that contemporary technological development in alliance with economics fosters materialism, threatens Christian spirituality, and renders life, including cultural life, shortsighted and shallow. There is little sensitivity, consequently, for the actual threats.

Despite the fundamental differences between himself and Ellul (specifically on the nature of the Cultural Mandate and the state of Creation before and after the fall), Schuurman sees the web that technology and economics weave around us, and how easy it is to become trapped in it. Even worse, we may attempt to support the alliance through our theology. It is this point that brings me into this discussion. I am less concerned with the nature of the Cultural Mandate, or the state of Creation before and after the Fall (as Ellul focuses on in his essay on Genesis)--I am concerned with how we use technology, especially as it encroaches on every aspect of our lives. Perhaps a study of Illich's Tools for Conviviality would be in order.

September 09, 2006

School, and Its Alternatives

I have been working my way through Ivan Illich's Deschooling Society on our trip. This is Illich's most well known, and notorious, work where he outlines a vision for a society that does not include mandatory, publically-funded schooling. While I do not intend to review his ideas here, I will say there is a certain attraction to elements of Illich's vision (particularly his concept of convivial institutions and tools), and I believe a deschooled society might (might) be more beneficial to those at the lower end of the social spectrum. What I would like to do is provide a concrete example of how his "learning webs" actually do work better than structured schooling.

I left college with two degrees, one in philosophy and another in writing. My philosophy advisor had always insisted I take up a "practical" degree, as he rarely recommended that his students pursue graduate work in philosophy (he did not actively pursue current philosophical trends, or even stay current in his area of expertise), and finally, by my senior year, his advice took root in me, and I gave up any intentions of graduate school. I even ignored my "practical" degree, and instead took a job running a rock climbing gym in Pittsburgh.

A few years later, I knew the work was a bit of dead end, so I reviewed my options. I considered graduate school in writing, but the thought of acquiring school debt was unattractive. A friend suggested that I consider picking up a book on computer programming. He was a mostly self-taught programmer himself, and he believed I wouldn't have trouble picking up a language or two, and then finding a job (this was during the dot com bubble, so development work was plentiful). He passed along a few books about PERL, and I was on my way. He functioned as my "master," as I would pepper him with questions via email, and he gladly answered my queries and provided further guidance in my reading. Roughly a year or so later, he thought that I knew enough to test the waters of employment.

Through the social network of the climbing community in Pittsburgh, I was offered interviews at two companies--both small start-ups looking to grow their staffs with junior level programmers who learn on the job. I received offers from both, and eventually settled on a company located just a few blocks from our Shadyside apartment. My boss was another self taught programmer (who did not even have a college degree) who was immensely brilliant and willing to tutor me and, more importantly, take a chance on me.

Nearly eight years later, I am still grateful for the opportunity. I remained with the company for two years (until they closed their doors when the bubble burst), and I stayed on another year or so with my boss doing contracting work for various local companies. Every moment was a learning experience, for both of us. What's ironic is that I am more well-rounded than some people with programming-related degrees. That's not to say that they do not know more about computer science that I do (the algorithms that drive data collections, for example), but as far as marketable skills go, I have a few more hats to wear.

So, what's the point of this? I am beginning to suspect that for many people, white collar-types included, college does little to enhance your vocation. Programmers, certain flavours of engineers, accountants, business people--they would likely be better served by immediately joining the workforce in an appreticeship position. I am not advocating destroying the university, but I am curious if a degree is a necessary key for most every professional. Employers require a piece of paper that often speaks little of the graduate's ability to do the given work, and we as a society consider college a necessary step in the growth of a young person (aside--you know you are getting old when you refer to college kids as young people), and an expensive one at that. Perhaps Illich is correct, and we should begin to re-assess at least elements of our educational system.

September 06, 2006

Building Institutions, Again

Dr. Koyzis has responded to my post concering his essay on Jacques Ellul's Technique and the Opening Chapters of Genesis. He wonders why the sort of personal action that Ellul espouses is any better than institutional action, given the pervasiveness of sin in the world. Ellul, despite his protestations to the contrary, was Calvinist in many ways, including his views of humanity. We are sinful creatures, and every bit of our lives is caught up in sin. Inter-personal, face-to-face action is not less sinful that institutional action, but it solves particular problems that institutions carry with them. But let us look to Ellul's perspective on this.

In his Presence of the Kingdom, Ellul examines very specifically at the Christian's role in the world, and what Christian action should resemble. I've written previously regarding Ellul's advice to the layman, so let's examine what he has to say to the Christian intellectual. He perceives several problems with intellectual activity during the 20th century, but these can be distilled to two primary issues: the imposition of Technique upon intellectual endeavors, and communication that only speaks about humanity rather than to it.

The first problem was alluded to in the discussion of Koyzis' initial essay--if the Cultural Mandate includes unlocking hidden potentialities in Creation (therefore viewing progress and Technique as part of the created world before Fall), what do we make of "backward" cultures? Are they less Godly because they are less advanced? Additionally, the imposition of Technique on the intellect (the "enslavement of the intelligence to technical methods" as Ellul puts it) becomes problematic for communication because communication now must occur along these technical lines. If we do not employ the proper intellectual technics, we are necessarily excluded from communication because of it. These narrow technical lines ultimately hinder the very intellectual endeavor they seek to empower.

More problematic for Ellul is the effect of Technique on communication. Communication, especially from and between intellectuals, has ceased to be personal. Ellul writes:

There has never been a time when people have talked so much about Man: there never was a time when so little was said to Man.

Worse, intellectual communication has ceased to have any anchor in the world--it is not based on concrete experiences and interactions. Ellul writes with an eye toward political intellectuals, those who formulate theory and policy, and it is here that the problem of non-personal communication manifests itself the most. Ellul's remedy is focus intellectual activity and communication on what we know and what we experience--our neighbors, our family, our community. Only by knowing these can anyone expect to understand anything about the larger world. Hence Ellul's distaste of political policies and programs, as they are often anchored in the abstract. Ellul begins with the little way (to borrow Dorothy Day's phrase) and works outward.

So what of institutions, specifically the State? For Ellul, they will doomed to fail because they must work in the abstract, disconnected from the very people they seek to help (a result of his political work). Ellul would admit, I believe, that the State could do the work of God, but only because of God--it is He who orders those ends. But a focus on political policy and program would likely be fruitless for the Christian, as its work in the abstract necessarily removes us from the concrete work we are called to do--to be neighbors and live out our faith in a real way.

September 03, 2006

On the Road

Day two of the Drive to Colorado is nearly over. We're settling into a hotel room in York, NE as the last bits of daylight are swallowed by the night sky. We are certainly not setting any speed records--two days, roughly one thousand miles--but our pace is probably slightly better than I expected, and the Focus has provided acceptable gas mileage, especially given the rack mounted luggage box (small aside: gas is positively cheap in Iowa--roughly $2.30 a gallon--thanks to ethanol additives). The kids have been good, though Jen and I have spent a few spells wedged between car seats in the back seat. Seb has been entertained with paper and pencils, a huge stack of books, and a kids' MP3 player. Oren has his moments of grumpiness, but overall he has been pleasant, and his ability to fall asleep in the hotel room while we are still awake amazes me.

We should arrive in Denver tomorrow, another five or six hours before us.

September 01, 2006

Night Riding

It is 12:45AM. I am leaving the office. I will spare the details of why I was there so late. I have not, in many years, worked so much in a single day (to best of my knowledge, it last came organzing competition at the climbing gym). I was tired, under-fed, and frustrated. I turned down several ride offers, mostly because I did really want to ride, despite the fact that I did not have a forward-facing light for my bike (being summer, the proper commuting light was at home, of little use for the 5:00PM ride home). Truthfully, the lack of light would not put me off. I love riding at night, and lately I've had little reason to do so. The weather was perfect, cool ahead of the remains of Tropical Storm Ernesto. It was a bit cloudy, but no matter. Still wonderful.

Off I went, blinky light and reflectors offering a small measure of comfort. The office sits at the base of hill, isolating a bit from the surrounding neighborhood. This, being the suburbs, meant that the hill lacks streetlamps. Once outside the orange cocoon of the parking lot lights, my eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden blackness. For a moment, I could see literally nothing. Then, slowly, the white lane marker can into soft focus. And nothing else. It's quiet--just the chirp-chirping of crickets and the whir of rubber on the inky black road.

Once at the top of the hill, I am back into residential neighborhoods and the comforting light of the streetlamps. A few cars pass in the other direction, but not a single vehicle overtakes me. On the long, rolling straight of Mount Royal, I settle into the middle of the lane, enjoying the early warning advantage a car's headlights give me. I have to bypass my usual route through the Pine Creek valley, as that stretch of road has no streetlamps. Instead I head through the business district of Shaler and soon I'm careening down the long hill into Etna. This, too, is poorly lit, so I feel my way, relying on the vague memory of potholes and cracks in the pavement. It works, and I am in Etna, heading toward the 62nd Street Bridge, and my bed.

The bridge is empty. Looking right, downtown blinks in the distance, the white glow of Heinz Field cast over the taller buildings (the Steelers played their final exhibition game). The traffic light at Butler blinks green, and I barely slow as I slide through the empty intersection. I chose the long way around, all the way along to Butler to the far side of Baker, and then it's up, up, up the hill to my home and my bed.