So Noe Valley Cyclery didn't do a perfect job on my brakes. I found that I still had to tweak the adjustment myself, but they did the part I couldn't figure out. It's doing well now. I gave it two pills and it will call me in the morning.

After a week of thick fog barely burning off late in the afternoons, the forecasted warm weekend didn't quite happen. So having had enough of it, I left town and went down the peninsula, where it was at least sunny, for a ride. It's always a trip. I think the sun was just starting to break through in the Mission when I left, but once I got onto 280 south, it was back in the fog and it was like driving on a gloomy overcast day. But then you drive south through Daly City, through Colma, and shortly after you pass Rte. 380, you're back in glorious California sun again.

I tried to do a ride from the 51 Bay Area Rides book, but this is the only one I've tried that turned out to be a wash. The ride starts in Woodside and climbs 1600' on Kings Mountain Road to Skyline Boulevard, and then goes down Tunitas Creek Road to the ocean, but Tunitas is so pitted and poorly maintained that after several jostling miles and 500' descent, I turned around and headed back up. I was going almost as fast going up as I was coming down.

Bummed about not doing the full ride, I went up Skyline which is not so fun because there isn't much shoulder to ride on, but is fun because the Santa Cruz Mts. feel like a playground for bikes and motorcycles on weekends. The trick is to not get hit.

It usually happens that when something goes wrong with one bike, something also goes wrong with my other bike. I have two road bikes, which is kinda stupid, but I haven't been able to part with my 14 year old steel frame, workhorse, "B" bike and replace it with a mountain bike. Friggin' sentimental value. It was on this "B" bike that the brakes were squealing like a vampire bat on acid, so I made a big production out of cleaning the pads and wheel rims, and when all was said and done, a piece of the caliper spring assembly that pulls the brakes apart when you let off on the brakes was busted.

I went to Noe Valley Cyclery this time, and Larry noted that it had been a while since I had bike trouble since I hadn't been around. At first he thought I might need a whole new front brake, with an estimate over $100 for a higher end one, but when he took a closer look at it, he ended up being able to fix it. No charge. When he rolled my bike out and asked if there was anything else, he noticed a very, very subtle side-sway looseness to the rear wheel, and took it back to see if it was either a broken axle or just a loose bearing. It was a loose bearing. He tightened it. No charge. I ended up buying a pair of cycling gloves and a shop water bottle and gave him $20 for a $16 charge.

As I rode out of Noe Valley, the brake squeal was worse, like a cage of vampire bats having acid poured on them. Cleaning the pads and rims were decidedly not the answer. People were looking at me as I came to stops, it was pretty horrible. Fingernails on blackboards had nothing on this ungodly shriek. I decided it was time to implement a tip I got from Frank at Avenue Cyclery a while ago. I bought a box of chalk for $.86 and rubbed chalk all along the rims. Worked like a charm. The bats are sleeping peacefully, thank you.

So I finally opened that envelope of photos that my parents sent me a while ago. The reason? Well, they sent another envelope chock full o' photos of my brother's wedding. I think they may have sent a whole damn roll this time! So I got this thick thing in the mail with my address written in what is probably my mother's handwriting, something I probably haven't seen in a decade, and was too intriqued not to open it. So once that envelope of worms was opened, I figured I might as well open the first one, which had only three photos, some of which were dupes.

We're not a close family. We're cordial, but displays of affection are uncomfortable. I could have done without the photos of my brother kissing his wife. That's just how it is.

Looks like our little heatwave is forecasted to end, and with apartment windows wide open, the chill Bay Area night air feels mighty good. Did I just say that? Well just fuck me because this isn't normal. By the end of the week, the fog will be rolled in and windows will be shut tight for the night, no more Mars, no more Milky Way at the beach. I swear I can hear a foghorn.

I had to bring my bike in today to get my rear wheel trued. It got injured early on yesterday. I'm not sure what happened, but I was riding through the tunnel that goes under Rte. 101 just across the Golden Gate Bridge and something jammed the rear wheel. I thought a water bottle fell out or my shoe jammed the wheel, but in the tunnel, with no bike lane and car traffic, I couldn't look down to see. I think I was skidding and was just trying to keep upright until I was out of the tunnel. I couldn't figure out what happened, but the rim was so out of whack that the only way I could keep riding was to effectively disengage the brake.

I went to Avenue Cyclery on Stanyan. The best cycleries in the city are Noe Valley Cyclery and Avenue Cyclery; best service, no attitude. When I came back for my bike, Frank proudly showed me how perfectly he trued it, and charged me $12 on a $15 quote. I should note that the wheel had been built by Toby at Noe Valley Cyclery, and I like to think that if it was able to be trued so perfectly, it was because Toby did such a great job building the wheel. On the way out, I asked the guy up front if they had a fridge in back for liquid tips. He said he thought Frank didn't drink, but I've had good experiences with the other mechanics, too, so maybe I'll bring a six-pack on Friday near closing time. Oh, that's Critical Mass night. Oh, that's Rosh Hoshanah, the Day of Reckoning, right? Gotta lot o' reckoning to do.

According to my watch, it's 11:20 p.m. and 87 degrees in my apartment. This is the kind of weather I purportedly love, yet I grumble as I get the fan out of the kitchen and bring it to my living room because it's too hot just sitting in front of my computer. But it's an acclimation thing, if it was like this all Summer I'm sure I'd be perfectly chirping, and come September I'd be looking forward to the cool down and leaves changing color, bracing for Winter. But it hasn't been like this all Summer, just the odd few days here and there. I don't have a point here, in case you were wondering. I think I heard the New York tri-state area just experienced one of its wettest Summers on record.

I was planning to go for a ride in the Santa Cruz Mountains, down by Woodside, one of the Bay Area's weekend cycling hot-spots, but as soon as I stepped outside I scrapped that idea - way too hot. Tackling those climbs in these temps is a recipe for getting fu'd up. So I drove to the Golden Gate Bridge and rode up into Marin from there. It was still pretty freaky hot, but at least it was flat. I wanted to see how far it was to ride to Fairfax.

It was actually pretty neat. I rode through towns I had only heard of in weather reports, like Corte Madera and Larkspur. It was all flat except for one quick and easy 300' climb, and I rode through San Anselmo, which I was familiar with, having spent some time there hanging out with a woman soon after I got to the Bay Area. Sherilyn Chew, I wonder what happened to her. She was so adorable, she was a French major or something and she used to mutter to herself in French. Or with a French accent. I forget which, but it amused me to no end.

I'm pretty sure I recognized the road that went to her house, but I'd be surprised if I could find it. Never would I have imagined that I'd be riding my bike through San Anselmo, much less ride to San Anselmo. It was about 18 miles to Fairfax.

I watched the entire four hour plus live coverage of the San Francisco Grand Prix bike race, which is no longer the San Francisco Grand Prix, but the, um . . . something corporate. God Bless America! I learned last year that it's not worth going out to watch it unless you: a) go early enough to get a position on one of the hills where the riders go slow enough to actually see them; and b) are with other people so you can reclaim your place if you need to go pee or get coffee or snacks. The disadvantage of watching the live coverage is you have to listen to local ABC sportscaster Martin Wyatt, who for the third year in a row has shown how inept and incompetent he is to cover: a) a cycling event; and b) any sports event that can realistically be called "international".

Wow, those riders are incredible, what an exciting finish. I swear, to ride on that level you have to transform your body into some kind of organic machine. Their muscles and their metabolism just ain't normal, and I'm sure their attention to nutrition must be virtually scientific.

Hm, Enon released a new record yesterday (and they're going on tour with Irving). I need to scour my CD collection for stuff to sell.

Enterprise Season Three Premier: the last scene where Jolene Blalock (T'Pol) disrobes? I'm having trouble uncrossing my eyes.

God, I love how the blog*spot ads at the top of the page "know" what we're writing about. I was creeped out at first, but like government surveillance and identity theft, you just get used to it.

Riding, riding, riding, all I'm doing these days is riding. And getting hopped up on anime. I did two 25 mile rides on two consecutive days. The first one was supposed to be longer, but I cut it short because . . . I just ran out of fuel. I didn't bonk, I just ran out, and after doing two of the four hills on the course, I abandoned and headed for the nearest BART station. I still want to give the full course another try soon. Yesterday it was all about flat and easy. I took BART to Dublin/Pleasanton and took the Iron Horse Trail all the way up to a barbecue in Concord, where I proceeded to drink the rest of the afternoon away with good food and good people, mostly Beale St. crowd. The Iron Horse Trail, and actually all the recreational trails in the East Bay system, was awesome. Just . . . pleasant. God, those rich people got it good.

To get to the barbecue, I turned right off the Iron Horse Trail and took the Canal Trail, which is named after the canal that it follows. It was so neat, the East Bay has canals, and I was admiring the canal at one point when my wheels got just too close to the edge, and it was one of those moments when you're still alright, but you know you're about to go off the edge and you brace yourself for a crash. It wouldn't have been a bad crash at all, but it's never pleasant to go over on your bike. I've fallen over at a standstill and that still sucked, scraped my knee and misaligned my brakes. Anyway, the moment was long enough for me to decide not to crash and control roll down the embankment and stop at the fence at the edge of the canal. *whew* I clicked out and pulled my bike back up to the path where there was an old man walking down the path and saw the whole thing. I said, "Whew, that was a close one", making conversation. "You mean you didn't mean to do that?". Haha, thanks gramps.

After a full day out on Tuesday, including Japanese food, seeing "Dirty Pretty Things", getting the new "New Type USA" (anime) magazine, free day at SFMoma (but not the Chagall exhibit), NTN trivia at Beale St., and picking up Season 1 of "Sailor Moon" on DVD because I am officially now a hardcore anime junkie, I have hardly left the apartment for two days. Not that I've been wasting the time, and not that it was planned that way. I woke up at 5:30 this morning hoping to hit the road and drive out to Kings Canyon National Park and do some riding amidst the gorgeousness, but for some reason that just didn't happen. Then around 8:00 I thought of driving down to Pinnacles National Monument and hike some paths, but that also ended up not happening. Then in the afternoon I thought of BARTing out to the East Bay and riding a course I thought up a few days ago. Didn't happen.

I'm gonna try to do the Kings Canyon thing tomorrow, again, but I won't be surprised if tomorrow's a verbatim repeat of today.

"Dirty Pretty Things" was a great movie, Audrey Tautou showing that she's not merely an Audrey Hepburn knock-off, but does have a wider, more diverse acting range. Of course I love Audrey Hepburn, but I never considered her acting and probably never will. I love to watch Audrey because it's Audrey. There may have been a little bit of that going on in "Dirty Pretty Things", Audrey Tautou trying to pull of a Turkish refugee in an English-speaking role. I don't really know what a Turkish accent sounds like, and I certainly couldn't tell if it was obvious that she wasn't pulling it off because of her native French. But even if I could, I might have forgiven it because it was Audrey Tautou. You have to admit, though, it's pretty hard when you're French trying to speak English with a Turkish accent. That would be like me trying to speak Japanese with a Chinese accent.

Right, so here I am writing about "Dirty Pretty Things" and only focusing on Audrey Tautou, when the main protagonist of the movie is Chiwetel Ejiofor who was incredible. I can wonder right and left about Audrey Tautou's performance to finally consider it "very good", along with the rest of the ensemble cast, but Ejiofor's performance bears no wondering.

Camera! Speed! Action!
I got an envelope in my mailbox from my parents, and from the looks of it, the way it's folded over and meticulously taped to the exact proportions of a photograph, from its heft and density, it's probably photos from my brother's wedding. They have taken to sending me photos from my last visit. I wonder if they've noticed the recent silence; not uncommon, but that it was more pregnant this time, have they sensed something, that they just dodged a bullet of learning? They're learning anyway. Did they notice that I didn't deposit the last check they gave me? I turn the envelope a few times around in my hand. I look up at the director with a puzzled look on my face. Am I supposed to open it? What's my motivation?

"Cut!!"

I thought of going on another ride today since yesterday's was so . . . fun? Was it fun? I guess so, or why would I do it? Why do we do the things we do, hm? But it was a good thing I didn't, because I got on my bike to ride to the park to read, and I could tell right away that my muscles were tapped. That never happened when I used to run - running so hard one day that running the next day would be practically impossible. Riding definitely takes more out of a body.

I was planning to go to Golden Gate Park to read at the Botanical Gardens, but when I got to Amoeba, it looked like the park was fogged in, so I headed back to Dolores Park in the Mission, caught the last bits of a performance by the San Francisco Mime Troupe, and set down to read for a while, getting a tinge of a burn.

And that's how I spent my Labor Day vacation. Bwahahahahaha!

Poor YACCS comments, their server failed and won't be back up for a few maybe.