If You Want to Drink All Day, You Gotta Start Early.

I got up at 5:30 this morning. I opened my eyes, looked at the clock, and realized that there was no way I was gonna be able to go back to sleep. So I fixed some bottles for the boys (pre-emptive strike), and went ahead and got dressed.
I used to do this all the time when I was a kid, sans the baby formula. There was a time when I really liked to kill things. Especially things that fly, or things that swim. So I'd get up before dawn, slug some Folgers, load long guns and dogs into a rusty pickup truck, and go off hunting.
I don't do that so much anymore. Fatherhood and the passing of time have dulled my bloodlust. Shit, I haven't even handed out a really good ass-kicking in a couple of years now. As much as I used to dig chucking em around, loaded, feeling nothing but a dull pulse behind my eyes-- That all seems to have left me.

This morning my purpose was utterly benign. Take my new bike out and get it muddy. The Portland that everybody speaks of has descended upon us now. Dark, and fucking wet. No worries of course. If I was comfortable enough in Idaho doing my morning loop with a frozen water bottle, I can handle a little rain, non?

Yeah, It sucks. I have gear, but it still isn't a whole lot of fun. It's not like I'm commuting in the shit every day, so it shouldn't bum me out too bad. I have no idea what I'm going to obsess about once cross season ends and spring is still a good 4 months off, but I'm sure I'll figure something out.

Anyway, my new bike is pretty fucking nice. It feels, I'm not sure how to put it--Taut and plastic. Like a new car. Solid, smells like chemicals. Reliable and fast. Good enough for the likes of me, I guess.
A couple of muddy laps in the grass at Laurelhurst park had me convinced anyway. Convinced that riding a bicycle around in the muck at 6:15 in the morning is a fucking stupid endeavour .

Overall, I felt pretty good. I ended up doing what I like to call "The Paycheck Loop" . 8 miles round trip to pick up my check and get it in the bank. It's sort of become a saturday morning ritual. Just bust out 8 little miles as fast as possible and then home for a shower and a nice cuppa with the wife. Harder this wet morning than most, but I gotta tell you, I was feeling kinda kick ass.--

Wellens Kick

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Though I was probably looking alittle more like this.



The other day I was trying to bypass an accident at my turnoff, and ended up going a few blocks out of my way into a neighborhood I hadn't been thru before. Voila! Little Hanoi. I have no idea if it's called that, since it's only about three blocks of Sandy Blvd. with some Vietnamese markets and video stores, but I immediately went vigilant, for often it is in these neighborhoods that lurks something I prize. That's right. Good-ass heroin. Not that crappy California black-tar shit, but real, honest to god, get high or die trying China White.

Actually I just really like French-Vietnamese sandwiches. I found 'em. Yet another piece of the Good Life puzzle clicks into place.