I think this just about sums it up...

'Cause words kinda escape me at the moment...

Snowpocalypse!

The day started well enough: mild winds (especially for winter!) and beautifully-cleared roads on which to do my two-wheeled thing. I should've figured that was too good to be true...

Jumpin' Jehovah! I could've used some Nokians today, for the sky delivered an unholy blast of snow on Chicago. It began around midday, and continues to come down relentlessly. and all I can hear now are the sirens outside, coupled with the awful slushing-crunching sounds of all te cars driving in the snow. Blarg.

And for the first time in three winters, I actually had to get a co-worker to DRIVE me home. I feel a little dirty. I walked about half a mile from the grocery store to my apartment, and I managed to fall on my ass twice.

Any wonder why I keep dreaming, night after night, that I have moved somewhere else?

So, it's either some Nokians, or maybe I can rent out the Heat Miser's services for a spell. Or is it the Cold Miser?

Testing ye olde car-free resolve

Helluva day to start a car-free life. Not that I would've opted to drive today, but I found it kinda funny that today delivered low double-digit temps, coupled with soulkilling, gusty 30 mph winds. And I didn't have the option of driving at all. THAT felt great!

I worked from home, but had to run a few errands; and luckily, I am armed with some damn proper cold-weather armor. But what's ultimately daunting is the ice on the streets. The city's bold "do-nothing" initiative leaves the streets as slick as the Valdez spill. But I just rode slow n' easy, and managed to kept upright despite the asshole slickery and the unholy gustage.

And tomorrow, full-on winter hellishness is predicted. Good times. Nothing like riding home after work in both rush hour and nigh-blizzard conditions. I can't go home for Christmas soon enough!

So it is done

No, I didn't find a job out of the hostile tundra. But I have throttled over a significant hurdle that has been haunting me for far too long: Today I sold my car.

I got a 2000 Civic when I lived in Austin, and have dragged it around mindlessly to every place I've lived since. What with cycling everywhere in Chicago, it became a real impediment to well-being, considering it just sat around for months on end, accruing tickets and got towed thrice on suspicion of being abandoned.

But today, that all changed. it's GONE. And I only had to whack $400 of my asking price. I feel like celebrating, but the car's only been of peripheral concern to me for the last couple of years; maybe the best course of action is just to act like nothing happened.

Then go score some Lebanese food.

Battered by ice!

Also, from riding in the abominable conditions over the last week, I've eaten a fair deal of shit on the bike. The nearly-invisible ice has had its way with me. Bastard. So I've landed on both right and left sides, and right now I feel like I've done 10 rounds with an amphetamine-fed Mike Tyson. I just looked at my right elbow (the latest victim of the cruel slickery), and it has a sweeet abrasion scab on it.

If I keep this up, by the end of Winter I'm gonna look like Jake Lamotta circa Raging Bull. Only in living, loving Technicolor.

Oof. WIDE load

I have battled fatassery all my life. I was basically raised a veal; I never had friends in my immediate neighborhood, meaning no outdoorsy physical outlet, and my typical pursuits were reading and drawing. I tried my hand at both soccer and softball, and was less-than-marginally happy with both. In fact, my soccer team never won a game during our first season. This was the modus operandi until about age 14. Then I discovered broads (chicks).

Guess what facilitated getting around Baton Rouge oh-so-clandestinely in a usually-futile attempt to woo girls? MY BIKE. Yessir. And nothing fed my ego than when a comely lass would exclaim, "you rode 4 miles to see me?" Hee hee. So after several years of merely riding around the neighborhood to score Now n' Laters, I realized this 2-wheeled sucker was capable of getting me to the most remote quarters of Louisiana's capitol.

But despite all the riding I did (and still do), I remained a baby gorilla. But my diet was utter shit, and I eventually gave up the bike for a misguided life in debaucherous rock n' roll. I didn't own a car until I was 25, but I was suitably impressed by my stoner friends' Camaros, Trans Ams, and the occasional classic Mustang.

But what was most impressive was that most of these folks' parents would cook up this absurdly-huge meal when I'd visit that would ALMOST satiate our weed-bred rapacity!

Fast-forward 20 years. Me. Now. In Chicago. I ride TONS. Gave up the Rock. And my diet got waylaid by the wonders of ethnic foods I had never tried before living in New Orleans. Couple the indulgence of gastronomic wonders with absolute K.R.A.P. conditions outside (greatly hindering my ability to ride my proverbial ass off), then you arrive at some bold new girth. I've actually had to take up doing a mild circuit of weight-training in my apartment to fend off the bloat; so far, the results are inconclusive.

Shit. Long story short: I gotta GO. Living in these harsh, wintry conditions play havoc on my mind and constitution. These days, it takes every bit of wherewithal to even head outside and take the wee-est O' spins. Grr. I'm still eyeing milder locales for relocation, but so far, jobs have been far and few between. And I desperately need to live somewhere where I can be outside, year-round (without the fear of the weather killing me!), so I can shed some of this excess girth. Jolly Giant, I ain't (or don't want to be!).

Enough. No more negativity. I'm gonna let my veggie chicken nuggets dissolve (so far, wreaking curious havoc on my G.I tract), then it'll be time to recline and read a book about New Orleans. Should be a good night. ;-)

Frustrated

I'm chilly, tired, and draped in a killer swatch of ennui.

So far, this winter has been fairly freaking brutal. Not a week into December, and I can't recall the last day it was above freezing. And the city has apparently decided to adopt a bold "do-nothing" strategy when it comes to clearing the streets of snow, making cycling OH SO MUCH FUN.

I'm going back home for Xmas (a lovely 1000 miles southward), but am already pre-dreading the unfortunate return to Chicago after a week being bathed by the sub-tropics.

I rode the Riv on the Lakefront path to work the other day. The trail looked as if the world's largest margarita glass had spilled over, making my way to work a salty, wet, obnoxious slurry. The same can't be said for the actual city streets. All the residual icy bullshit has been heaved into the bike lanes, making us all-year cyclists feel just THAT more marginal than we already might be! And woe to you if you wanna opt for a side street. Those are resplendent in that lovely beige-meets-brown oatmealesque snowmass that does nothing but hide the glacial mess underneath. Super.

I'm gonna sign off 'til tomorrow. Not feeling uber-positive at the moment, and I'm not too keen on clogging the InterWeb with my maudlin negativity.

"Woe to you, O earth and sea...

For the Devil sends the Beast with Wrath."

Not only these the words that presages the vicious guitar salvo of Iron Maiden's "Number of the Beast", but they ably illustrate my fear of more snow in the forecast.

Just substitute "Beast" for "snow", and "Sea" with "Lake Michigan", or maybe even the Chicago River...

Truth be told, Chicago's been pretty damn fortunate to have had a relatively mild Fall; I rode a century comfortably in September, and was riding in shorts (granted, with wool tights underneath) maybe a week or so ago. But when the snow came, it CAME. It arrived like an unwanted load of junk mail that had been on hold, just waiting for its recipients to return from vacation. Blarg.

I guess what really chaps my ass is that these conditions really slice into my weekly regimen, and that lovely padding 'round my middle inflates like a monster truck's (Gravedigger?) tire. I recently dropped a few dimes on some proper wool undergarments, and they have proving ten times their worth over the last few days. So it's not the cold that's daunting. It's the WIND (30 mph on the way back from work); it's the perma-ice that sticks around due to the constant cycle of thaw and re-freeze, making every other block a treacherous glacial odyssey; it's my co-workers constantly asking, "Goddamn! You RODE in this shit?"

Well, that last item's kinda bullshit. Those are the kind of outlooks that keep me rolling through the tundra, despite Old Man Winter, the Abominable Snowman, scores of Yeti, along with Elvis (with Satan riding shotgun) in a '57 Chevy being less than 20 paces behind my fat ass.

Down, but not quite out

Wow. What a year and a half it's been. My RB-1 got wrecked, my best friends all suddenly moved form Chicago (leaving me with approximately 0.0 friends), my grandmother passed away, and I became a self-loathing recluse. Hot fucking action.

Lately, I've realized this part of the country just ain't for me. I'm obstinately hard-wired to revel in warmth and goody outsideness, and with each passing day of below-freezing temps, I get more and more aggravated. I'm still riding, mind you, but in the last week or two, I've seen my weekly mileage cleaved in half!

So the question is: where to go? I went to Seattle and Portland a couple of months ago, and really REALLY dug Portland. It didn't hurt (obviously) that it's quite the bikepicenter, but I also have one of my oldest, dearest friends there. He's the type of guy that you don't see or rarely talk to in years, but can catch up with IMMEDIATELY in a matter of minutes. Great guy.

So as of now, my feelers are out in PDX, Austin TX, or (kinda regrettably) back to N.O. This economic climate isn't exactly conducive to this kinda roll, but screw it. It has to happen.

BTW, I put too much rice in tonight's crawfish etouffee. I'm a bad expatriate. ;-)