Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Just In Time For The Holidays

I got a bad case of food poisoning on Sunday. It's Tuesday and I am now up to eight pounds lost since Sunday night. But fortunately I am starting to feel a little better. I am trying to think of humorous things to say but I can't.

Friday, November 21, 2008

Why Cable TV?

The cable TV box died and went to Digital Heaven. Its demise was preceded by its freezing of the screen every five seconds then coming back to life after 10 seconds and then repeating the cycle again. After trying a reboot, the cable box flatlined and a new one was necessary. The replacement works great but even with 180 cable stations the programming still sucks and I find myself always reading a good book for entertainment instead. (Does a Donald Duck comic qualify as high literature? Carl Barks' four-color covers from the '50s for Comics and Stories and Uncle Scrooge do qualify as high art, though. Look him up. But I digress) All this begs the question, why have TV at all?

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

A Tale of Two Races

In the spirit of literary references here is a visual tale of two races.

It was truly the best of times and the worst of times...weather wise.

The Team Squid Pro Quo race headquarters in the February 2008 24 Hours of Old Pueblo:

The Team Squid Pro Quo compound in the November 2008 24 Hours of Fury:

Can it really be November? 87 Degrees? Oh, how we suffer.....

The Sound and the 24 Hours of Fury

Mine is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and the 24 Hours of Fury, and our efforts resulted in nothing.

I have finally recovered from the 24 Hours of Fury put on by 4 Peaks Racing up at McDowell a week and a half ago. Team Squid Pro Quo had penciled this in as our prep race for the 24 Hours of Old Pueblo and we were pretty excited. On the same course four years ago, in the 24 Hours of Adreneline, we put in 23 laps farting around and figured being in better shape we could contend for at least a good placing.

The Squid Pro Quo Compound in about the most perfect racing weather imaginable:
I won't bore the reader with how we did, but I'll only say I got sick during the first lap, barely finished the second lap, slept for ten hours and never darkened the track with my presence again. Fortunately, I had three Warsteiner Dunkels in the cooler to soothe my fevered body Sunday morning (It turns out I had gotten an infection).

I had a feeling we were doomed when Keir called just before the noon start and said he couldn't show up (he traditionally always does the first lap). He had a work emergency arise just before the start of the race and wouldn't make his appearance until late afternoon where he did one lap and promptly disappeared again until Sunday morning. Cesar stepped up to the plate and attempted to give us a strong first lap, but two flats killed his effort.

Cesar at the start pulling away (Lee is across the way taking a picture of Cesar's "good side"):
Cesar and Lee carried the torch and kept us in the hunt for third to last place. But, alas, without Keir and I to spell them, we slipped into second to last place late Sunday morning despite their best efforts. I just stayed at the compound and moaned and complained to everyone.

I was reminded of Macbeth's soliloquy after the death of his wife. It seemed apropos with references to "the way to dusty death" etc... We strutted our way upon the stage for each hour that a lap took but in the end with all of our sound and fury, it signified nothing. But maybe I doth exaggerate. Next year we will be heard from again!

The Soulcraft ready for battle with the S-Works waiting in the wings behind:

At the end of the first lap. It took so much effort to smile I could not even suck my gut in:

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
That about describes the race for me.