Another Nugget of Wisdom

Bill Gates recently gave a speech at a High School about 11 things they did not and will not learn in school. He talks about how feel-good, politically correct teachings created a generation of kids with no concept of reality and how this concept set them up for failure in the real world.

Rule 1: Life is not fair - get used to it!

Rule 2: The world won't care about your self-esteem. The world will expect you to accomplish something BEFORE you feel good about yourself.

Rule 3: You will NOT make $60,000 a year right out of high school. You won't be a vice-president with a car phone until you earn both.

Rule 4: If you think your teacher is tough, wait till you get a boss.

Rule 5: Flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity. Your Grandparents had a different word for burger flipping: they called it opportunity.

Rule 6: If you mess up, it's not your parents' fault, so don't whine about your mistakes, learn from them.

Rule 7: Before you were born, your parents weren't as boring as they are now. They got that way from paying your bills, cleaning your clothes and listening to you talk about how cool you thought you were. So before you save the rain forest from the parasites of your parent's generation, try delousing the closet in your own room.

Rule 8: Your school may have done away with winners and losers, but life HAS NOT. In some schools, they have abolished failing grades and they'll give you as MANY TIMES as you want to get the right answer. This doesn't bear the slightest resemblance to ANYTHING in real life.

Rule 9: Life is not divided into semesters. You don't get summers off and very few employers are interested in helping you FIND YOURSELF. Do that on your own time.

Rule 10: Television is NOT real life. In real life people actually have to leave the coffee shop and go to jobs.

Rule 11: Be nice to nerds. Chances are you'll end up working for one.

Author unknown.

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints.

We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, hate too often.We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years.

We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice.

We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships.

These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throw away morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill.

It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete.

Remember, spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever. Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side. Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.

Roots of Violence - Gandhi

• Wealth without work
• Pleasure without conscience
• Knowledge without character
• Commerce without morality
• Science without humanity
• Worship without sacrifice
• Politics without principles

Photos

If I could draw your attention to the side bar, I have posted some recent photos, including Alabama, for your viewing pleasure.

Happy Spring!

I often check in on Warren Kinsella's blog (It is linked on the side bar). He never has trouble holding my attention, and since he's giving it away, I thought I'd take the opportunity to post Warren's blog-entry from yesterday. After this taste, maybe he'll make it into your 'favourites' too.

March 23, 2006 – This won’t be in the paper this morning. I’m doing something else for tomorrow. Anyone who wants to use it somewhere, it’s yours, gratis. And, by the way, THE WAR IN IRAQ IS ILLEGAL.

What does a nation at war look like? Looking at the American media, it's hard to say.

Precisely three years after the commencement of the war in Iraq, on a cloudy, cool day threatening rain, the Fox Network affiliate in Atlanta offers up three fools to dissect the meaning of the conflict that has killed more than 2,300 Americans and more than 30,000 Iraqis. The blonde one in the middle says: "Some would say things are better, some would say things are worse. But one thing is for sure - a lot has happened in the past three years!"

Her co-hosts sombrely nod at this profound assessment. Fox producers then cut away to recent night time footage of Baghdad being bombed. They superimpose the greenish images of destruction with the headline: "REBUILDING IRAQ." To call any of it Orwellian is a cliché, but apt.

Three years later, though, it is actually true: a lot has happened. Along with the thousands dead on all sides - along with the many more thousands grievously wounded, the $6 billion (U.S.) spent monthly by the Pentagon, and an Iraq sliding inexorably towards the abyss of civil war - George W. Bush's pre-emptive action against Saddam Hussein's fictional weapons of mass destruction has profoundly altered the configuration of many lives, in Iraq and the United States. But what has it done to the spirit of Americans? What do they feel about it, three years on?

Pollsters sometimes suggest they have the best insights into these things, and there certainly were no shortage of polls to dissect this past weekend, as America grimly contemplated the third anniversary of the war, and as puny crowds gathered in cities around the globe to protest it. One Gallup survey, headlined on the front page of a copy of USA Today picked up on a Saturday at a convenience store in south-western Florida, finds that - by a margin of nearly three-to-one - Americans say the impact of Bush's war on their lives has been negative. Sixty per cent, Gallup noted, said the war wasn't "worth it." Half admitted that they had even cried because of it.

Fox Network bimbos notwithstanding, some further insight into America's zeitgeist is found, perhaps, in the newspapers one can pick up along Interstate 75 - the highway that many Canadians, seeking Spring Break sun or Snowbird getaways, know well. Unscientific a survey as it may be, a reading of these U.S. newspapers tells the tale of a nation wrestling with despair, doubt and denial - and, here and there, no small amount of defiance, too. The breezy rightist jingoism that characterized much of the early coverage of the Iraq war is gone, however.

What is left in its place, even in Republican-red Southern states, is a lot like what one sees in the lead editorial of USA Today, strenuously condemning Bush's pre-emptive strike: "[Iraq] was a blunder of historic proportions that has made Americans less, not more, safe...[the cost] in U.S. lives, money and credibility has been incalculable." In all, seven outstanding pieces of journalism about Iraq are found in the newspaper. Wartime boosterism is conspicuously absent. There is anger for George W. Bush and his defence chief, Donald Rumsfeld. But for the troops themselves, limitless pride.

Reading some newspapers, it almost seems as if the war is a Hollywood construct. In the Tampa Tribune and the Fort Myers News-Press, plenty of front page stories about golf or abortion pills, but about the war? Little or nothing. In a modest obituary in the latter, there is a dry recounting of the tragic death of a 27-year-old local man killed in an attack near Ar Ramadi earlier in the week - and an equally sterile Associated Press wire story about an anti-insurgent drive near Samarra. The coverage seems routine and disinterested, even when a local boy dies. It is almost as if the newspaper's editors do not want to remind their readers about it. That seems likely.

The fabled New York Times, picked up further along the I-75 on the same day, is not much better. A man who falsely claimed to be the victim of brutality at Abu Ghraib prison - the one seen in the infamous photograph, standing on a box, hooded and electrical wires dangling from his arms - merits front-page coverage, and a tortuous, self-flagellating Editor's Note on page two (the post-Jayson Blair Times remains jittery, it seems, about its journalistic credibility). But inside the newspaper of record? Not much about Iraq on this day.

In the pages of the St. Petersburg Times, further up the road, there can be found an unsettling profile of a 48-year-old man who actually enlisted to avenge the death of his 22-year-old son, killed by a roadside bomb in Baghdad two years ago. "I don't really have love for the Muslim people," says the man, who says he is a Christian missionary. "It's hard to love people who hate you." In the local section, a sad story about a local 29-year-old killed in a related conflict that Canadians know increasingly well, in Afghanistan.

Further north, on Sunday morning in Atlanta, the Journal-Constitution fills page after page with exemplary stories about Iraq - including one that describes, in detail, how the war has shattered the lives of five Iraqis. The U.S. has stayed too long, concludes one Iraqi father, whose wife, daughter and father-in-law were killed in a mortar attack. "We had great expectations but all those expectations have been destroyed," he says.

On the same day, in the Chattanooga Times Free Press, the front page carries a moving tale about a small-town Georgia Marine, Lance Cpl. Josh Scott, whose death left behind a 21-year-old widow and a six-month-old daughter. Says the young mother, recalling that her husband knew his daughter for only a few short weeks: "There's never going to be a day that goes by that I'm not going to remind her and tell her how much he loved her."

Reading it all, it would be manifestly unfair of any Canadian to suggest that Americans are remotely gung-ho about the war in Iraq. If their journalism is any indication, and it usually is, the people of the United States no longer approve of it. Even for the editorial boards with a Republican tilt, you can observe the growing sense of dread. But, as with Vietnam, Americans are hesitant to say so out loud - because too many young Americans have lost their lives to now dismiss it all as just a waste. It is a dilemma Canadians will increasingly face, as Afghanistan unfolds in the weeks and months ahead.

The last word goes, as it often does, to the Sunday New York Times, picked up at a coffee shop along the Interstate in Ohio. In it, someone has written a fiery editorial about what the newspaper calls "the Iraq debacle." The newspaper proclaims: "The last three years have shown how little our national leaders understood Iraq, and have reminded us how badly attempts at liberation from the outside have gone in the past.

"While we are distracted by picking up the pieces, there is no time to imagine what the world might be like if George Bush had chosen to see things as they were, instead of how he wanted them to be three years ago. History will have more time to consider the question."

The same goes for the despairing American people, and the journalists who serve them; the same goes for the United States, the country that does not seem to be at war, but surely is. They will also consider the question, and pick up the pieces.

There will be more stories to be written, up and down the Interstate, and far too many obituaries written about young men and women. And there will be plenty of time to consider the question, and the quagmire, which now bears the name Iraq.

What's Making News...

Cattle wander through Ayr streets
Carol-Ann Nugent, Cambridge
(Mar 16, 2006)

A professional rodeo crew converged on the town of Ayr Monday to round up 50 cattle that escaped from a farm and made their way to the downtown.
Several witnesses called Waterloo Region Police to report that cattle were walking on sidewalks and crossing roadways. While police controlled traffic tie-ups caused by the wandering cattle, the rodeo crew from Walkerton came with horses and bloodhounds to guide the cattle back home.
Ten of the cattle remained missing overnight Monday but were retrieved by the rodeo team on Tuesday morning. Police urged motorists and pedestrians to be cautious around the roaming farm animals.
"There haven't been any incidents relating to it, so we're grateful for that," said police spokesperson Olaf Heinzel. "It's certainly an unusual set of events."
Heinzel said it was unclear how the cattle, worth $45,000, escaped from a gated area of their North Dumfries Township farm.

More Tales from the Dirty South

for those of you just joining us, please read the post entitled "Soap Opera Weekly" before continuing with "More Tales from the Dirty South".
Now, where was I? Next up on the billing...

Hammerhead Part II, Michigan

This guy carries a lot of anger. luckily, he rides bikes and to my knowledge has little interest in gun collecting. He is almost always the winner in his class leading the entire pack all the way around the course. however, his class is "level 5" and there are five levels and level 1 is the top. so basically, he is king shit because he doesn't take the coach's advice, he trains by his spedometer instead of by his heartrate and has no style at all except "monster mash". also, he rides his road bike with a camelback which is a stylistic no-no in the world of the roadie. he seemed to have eyes for the stripper and was very into her "helpless-play-dumb"-ness despite her husband and his girlfriend. i suspect they have both made a mess of things by now since they are still in alabama in the hot sun and spandex. who could resist? anyway, he is in the category of people who need just a little more. when we got back from our ride, he'd be sure to go out again just so he could get 100miles/day, and we could all be impressed (once he even went in street clothes after a 5-hour ride whilst eating an apple and wearing no helmet). i am sure he has a huge johnson.

Sparky, Tennessee

Sparky is a boy not yet a man. At 20, what can you expect. he laughed after every sentence, and never did make his move on Delta Delta Delta (more on her later). He defends Ford Mustangs: proof that he is a southern boy. He has no intention on racing, so he informs coach Aldo, although he does own a Scott CR-1 which will run you about $4000. He also brought a mountain bike and back-up road bike, just in case. He would shower in cologne in the morning for Delta Delta Delta and that got on my nerves. I am not one to hide my true feelings, and hence, we didn't really get along. but arguing with him is like kicking the dog

Delta Delta Delta, Philadelphia/South Carolina

Delta Delta Delta will help ya help ya help ya so goes the saying. unless you're sparky. Despite his best efforts, this sweet college girl managed to thwart all advances by the southern lad described previous. we shared a room (myself, the stripper, delta delta delta and mrs. know it all) and it was unofficially shared with Sparky who would stay up late "talking to Delta", or so he would brag to the boys in his room. (one of which was mine, hence the inside scoop). Anyway, another 19-year old bike racer with her whole career ahead of her came down for her spring break instead of driving to florida with overweight sorority girls with the beach name painted on the rear windshield (oh the drive home was interesting...). She was adorably clueless about bicylce mechanics [what's a cassette?] and claims "Bicycles for Dummies" should be dedicated to her.

The Kid, Windsor

The kid came down on a plane from Windsor and works with Aldo at home. I liked him because he was quiet, he trains smart and respects Aldo. sometimes he was a little bit 15--but that's his age so we'll let it go. but when he, Delta, the Stripper and Sparky got together, I usually had to find something else to do far away as there was usually candy and hyper-activity involved.

The Hosers, Brantford

Three racers from Canada, eh? joined us on week two replacing the firemen. Aldo called them the three stooges. I have never met a more typical "Canadian". The way they spoke, it was sometimes hard for me to understand, and I am from Bruce County! Anyway, they were a good lot and made me laugh a lot. Once, Larry was racing with Moe and Curly, and his chain skipped off. the bike responded by going 45 degrees down left, then all the way over to the right, and somehow, he stayed upright. and i exhaled. it was a close call, and don't tell Aldo anyone was sprinting.

Then, some new characters arrived to spice up the last couple of days.

Hammerhead Part III, Maine

And I thougth Part II was bad. this guy just added bad energy to the camp from the moment he arrived. it appears he shows up solely to give Aldo a hard time. He argues about methods of training (believe it or not kids, but in order to be fast, you have to go slow) and figures that since he paid, he can just do whatever he wants. The hosers said it best: if you want to be an asshole, do it during YOUR camp. Don't just come along and wreck our camp, eat our food and turn our training rides into races. on the last day, just before I left, I had it out with him supervised by coach Aldo. I don't think he is coming back again.

Sidekick; the Strong Silent Type, Maine

He arrived with Hammerhead III. They shared his vehicle to get to camp and apparently he wisely would not allow HHIII to take the wheel. I could tell that he was not the same man as HHIII and I hope he has a good week despite the drama HHIII stirs up by constantly flapping his gums.

The Good Son

We got back from our last ride and a 16 year old had just arrived in his parents car from New Hampshire. They let him do the drive alone and in their vehicle. what is UP with that?

Last but not least:

The Happy Couple
Totally professional however most likely mistaken for total snobs. Kept themselves to themselves. You wouldn't see them tanning on the lawn because they would be using sports massage to speed recovery. You wouldn't see them doing their nails because they would be cleaning the bike and prepping for the next day's ride. You wouldn't see them on a second ride because rest is more important in the afternoons. You wouldn't see them smuggling junk food into the camp because they would be taking a nap. They did the camp the way it was meant and reaped the benefits. of course, that snobby couple is half me, half Jerome.

And now, a look at some of the locals

Scott, the Tri-athlete

Scott met Aldo at their local bike club meeting which Aldo attended. He asked Aldo to meet with him and talk about training, and since Aldo can't say no to cycling, Scott came by a couple times and even rode with us twice as well. I liked Scott because he respected Aldo, and he had a pretty bike. Also, I secretly love the accent--there is something really friendly about it.

Cedric, the Grocer

Cedric is the unofficial mayor of Ramer. He is a huge man and used to play football for "Crimson Tide", the State university. His daughter is there now he says, and he always has a story or a joke when you visit his store.

Brittany, the neighbour

Brittany is 16 and at first she was real quiet. She is in that awkward time which features glasses and braces and baggy sweaters. She came over to help Aldo while Renee was away for $7/hour. Although many times, she would end up just chatting with the campers or watching TV with us until her dad came to get her. I get the feeling that in a town like Ramer, you don't get that many oppportunities to talk to people. So once she got going, it was hard to get her back to work. She told us about her undying love for Axel Rose and how she planned to drive to his house in california to see if he wanted to start a band with her. She plays bass, she says. She told us about her aspirations for "when I grow up" which include but are not limited to:

1. a doctor
2. a racer car driver
3. an astronaut
4. a monster truck driver
5. a waitress

Although she has no plans to go to school, she says. Currently, she attends a highschool where the students work as hard as they can to torture their teachers, by the sounds of it. but perhaps that's every school. Renee says she is going to try to get her out on the bike which would be great for her I think.

And I think that's it for cast. now for a little more plot.

During the two weeks I was away, I finished three books. I would recommend The Curious incident of the Dog in the Night time as it was my favourite of the three.

We went out for dinner one night to the Little Red Schoolhouse which features authentic southern cooking. basically, you just take whatever is good and wholesome and add grease and fat. For example, Chicken: Bread it and fry it. Lima Beans: Add bacon. Squash Caserole: use butter in a 1:1 ratio and cover with cheese. You get the picture. it was a nice meal and we went there at the end of the first week. The place is a destination in itself. President Bush I was there and his picture is on the wall with the owner. he is wearing a sweater that says "United States of America" and "George Bush", in case you didn't know. apparently, he has a buddy who takes him fishing in the area. There are old maps of the area and the place actually used to be a school house so there are some artefacts from those days as well. every US president is picture on the wall.

In Alabama, there is a thing called White Dirt. Which is dirt, that is white, that you eat. it tastes like chalk and looks like it too but it apparently contains mysterious healing powers that help with fertility and other voodoo type things. google it.

I think I am all Alabama-blogging-d out now. Let me close in saying that it was a fabulous two weeks, highly entertaining and that next year I suspect TV crews will be there ready to witness the first campers voted out of state. I got some really valuable training done and i can't wait to take the new me out onto the race course. I will certainly be back again. By the end, Jerome, Aldo Renee and myself were like peas and carrots and our good bye was sad. Jerome and I packed up that little integra with more than I thought was possible and rolled off down the road back towards the great white north. We decided to do the trip in two days on the way back to play it safe. On the way out of Alabama, we narrowly missed two potentially devasting car accidents. one had a blow out in the left lane, swerved into the median, bounced off and spun across the highway without hitting any other vehicles and coming to a stop safely on the shoulder. that was about four cars up from us. Then, just down the road, a transport lost his load on a steep downhill and did the exact same thing. it stopped traffic for a long time and we had to watch college girls flirt with college boys who were sitting on top of their SUV smoking cigars. the girls decided to giggle and take a pee break to get their attention. it was obnoxious. that one happened almost in front of us as well, so we were happy to have avoided incident once again. a wait was no trouble.

We stayed the night in Kentucky somewher between Louisvillle and Cincinnatti. The hotel man was very nice and gave us a room for 45 dollars and then told us where we could get some steaks at 10pm. the weather was freakish all evening with lightening dancing all across the sky and tornadoes to the west. that night there was a horrific thunderstorm and the rain continued all the way into ohio the next day. For breakfast, I had the famed "biscuits and gravy" and it was disgusting. Subway for lunch again and we were home for dinner.

Jerome's mom was kind enough to leave some goodies in his fridge for us, so we ate, went to bed, woke up and said hello to reality.

Soap Opera Weekly

Hello and apologies for my extended blog-less-ness! I have just returned from cycling camp held in the Dirty South: Ramer, Alabama. Google Map it.
This post will probably be long, disjointed, unorganized and dare I say, entertaining.

Jerome and I drove the 18 hour journey two Fridays ago. We started out of Toronto at about 6am and made it to Ramer just before midnight Alabama time. Both of us were completely kooky and hopped up on ju jubes and "rockstar" beverage we picked up from a late night gas station in Alabama somewhere. [The clerk told us all about her life story and how she cleans houses, how her kids drive her crazy and about how she had worked as that clerk for ten years, in a southern drall so foreign to me I thought (in my exhausted-to-the-point-of-intoxication) she must be putting it on. There were bumper stickers there claiming "I love my truck", "I love my gun" and other racist/shocking/hilarious slogans. you could buy boiled peanuts there too, but I passed.]





We drove down through Michigan (horrible roads, ugly countryside), Ohio (flat as hell), Kentucky (beautiful countryside, gorgeous weather and rolling "mountains"), Tennessee (short and flat shaped state with a good look at Nashville) and finally Alabama (home of the most beautiful roads ever due to extensive "make work" projects. They use good ol' ashphalt.)

At the side of the road, they have "rest stops" which are just quick drive in and out bathrooms with some tourist info and vending machines. so handy! the roadside convenience centres like we have in canada are nowhere to be seen. however, it is clear that the US is built on the automobile as all along the way these little "oasises" would open up having three or four hotels, three or four (or more) gas stations (selling cheap gas that is cleaner and better than Canadian gas) and anything you could want to eat, so long as it is fast.

I am through with Subway for a little while I think.

Anyway, the driving itself was pretty good. I took the first pull and got us out of Canada. This was my fifth time driving standard transmission. Things were a little more stressful for me this time though as it was only the second time I had driven my boyfriend (the car guy)'s car, and we hit a snow storm along the way through Ontario. I prevailed! I never stalled the car and only came close to mortally wounding the transmission (i missed 4th on an exit and went from 5th to 2nd which the car didn't like at all, and it told me so.).

One thing I have to say about the States though: there sure are a lot of people, and they are all out driving. rarely was there the open stretches of road like we have in Canada. however, I think I should give credit where its due: americans are better drivers than canadians. they know the passing lane is for passing. They don't do anything sketchy like swerve, wobble, land change for no apparent reason etc etc. maybe i should just compare them to toronto drivers. anyway, it was a nice drive.

except for the directions.

We used the CAA's "Triptik" to get down there. I would not recommend that to anyone. It chose a silly border crossing adding time to an already long trip (i think Windsor makes the most sense...but it told us to go to Sarnia), it gave opposite-to-truth directions through Nashville, where it seems every interstate in the country converges and you have to pick your way through them to link to the next. The triptik literally said "go left" and the road signs said "go right". You had to be there. And then, the icing on the cake, it left us stranded on route 331 in Alabama in the middle of the night at the end of 18 hours on the road. The directions stopped short of telling us to get off 331 and get into Ramer. That added a good 40 minutes on dark roads with deer waiting to jump into us. thanks triptik! without a chance sighting of a small sign, we could have wound up in Florida. Moral of the story: just buy a road atlas.

So we arrive! the whole camp is quiet, and the lights are out. guess we should have called, but luckily, the back door was open so in we went. Coach Aldo and wife Renee met us as we clambered in. They put us to bed and there we stayed until 10am the next morning.

The first day it rained harder than I have seen in a long while. It was raining so hard we didn't even want to unpack the car and bike riding was a long way from my mind. Well--not that far. At cycling camp, you better be sure you like cycling because all the pictures on the wall are of cyclists and bikes. all the magazines available are about cycling. All the dvds in the entertainment centre are presentations of important races such as the tour, the giro and the amstel gold. all the books are biographies about lance armstrong. i'll be honest, at first I was a little overwhelmed. finally, i couldn't take it anymore--i had to get out of there else risk being sick of cycling without even taking a pedal stroke. so we unpacked the car (by we, i mean Jerome went out in the rain and transferred things to the covered porch where I carried them inside), set up bikes, and then headed to "the store" to get some lunch.

Ramer is a very small town with a population noted as 2000. However, it feels like the population is more like 200. It has a store which is comparable to a miniature walmart in that it sells everything. back in the day that would be called the general store I guess. There is a library with four computers, a bank, a health centre (with doctor's, not fitness equipment) post office, antique store which is open an hour a week on wednesdays and a so-called hardware store which has a stock of about 30 items. also a sheriff's office (which is actually his house with a sign out front). you can walk around the entire town in about 7 minutes.

The town thinks the cycling camp is a good thing on the whole. We are invited to church (Ramer has two), they asked us to be in the Christmas parade, and they think we wear funny suits.

all around Ramer, there are some of the best cycling roads I've seen. The state is poor relative to other states, and there are a lot of make-work projects provided. So somewhere in alabama at all times there is someone laying down brand new blacktop on old roads which see about 20 cars a day and very little snow. almost all the roads around Ramer are like riding on butter or ribbons.

there are some bumpy ones, but they only make you appreciate the smooth ones more. Coach Aldo found Ramer the hard way, by looking, and it took him 16 years of zigzagging southern states looking for the perfect balance of good roads, weather, and hospitality. Sunday was our first foray into spring training.

We rode everyday and followed a daily schedule that looked something like this:

• 7:45 breakfast of fresh fruits, grains and waffles
• 8:00 morning exercises and stretching
• 9:00 Ride
• Lunch after ride
• 6:45 dinner (everything from steak to lasagna, and all delicious)
• 8:00 cycling discussion re race tactics, time trialling, and season scheduling

Rides usually lasted about 4 hours and were approximately 100km long.

Here is a look at my numbers for camp:

• rides: 12
• hours: 49
• kilometres: 1200
• calories: 17,872 (31 Big Macs, or 436 Timbits)

We were there for two weeks and took one day's rest to head into Montgomery and see what that's all about. I got some new underwear at Victoria's Secret, some Zout stain remover from Walmart, and Jerome got some video games and then we decided we'd rather be doing nothing at camp. Walmart, I should mention, was collossal. It had everything. Full grocery store, garage, home decoration, electronics, sports and retail. it was mind boggling and i had to get the hell outta there lest I get dizzy and fall over.

In Montgomery, the cool thing to do is to drive a shit-to-mediocre vehicle, but to swap off the wheels for something twice as big in diameter and swap the rims for CHROME. Ford Mustangs are the Honda civics of the south.

We listened to the local radio to see what that was about. the ads said to "buy north american trucks. Do the right thing. Don't get Japanese tin cans." There was also a compeition on called "war of the roses". The girlfriend is supposed to call in and the DJ then calls her boyfriend on threeway but the boyfriend doesnt' know his girlfriend is in any way involved. the Dj tells him he has complimentary roses to deliver to whoever the boyfriend wants, but if he doesn't say his girlfriend's name, then she doesn't get the roses, he doesn't get the roses and a whole lot of trouble heads his way.

I don't think there is much else to say about Montgomery. I didn't do anything of historic value which is only ever disappointing when you get back. however, at the time, I was pretty tired, so walking around playing tourist was secondary to the primary goal of becoming a lean-mean-cycling machine. mission accomplished.

So lets talk about cycling then. First of all, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that everything Jerome told me about looking like a pro, relaxed and powerful on the bike was backed up by a coach I have immense respect for. Turns out it wasn't just boyfriend talk. In this respect, the camp was a great great great success as the connection I made with Coach Aldo will prove very valuable I am sure. He has 46 years of cycling experience to share which will save me time and energy avoiding mistakes. Plus, Aldo has got to be one of the best humans beings I have ever met. He gives unconditionally with no thought for himself. The camp is his hobby and I suspect that with the fees so low, and the grocery bill so high (cyclists are eaters, what can i say?) he is barely making ends meet. He doesnt' believe you should pay for a coach, but instead, that you take what you learn and give it back to cycling so that the sport continues to grow. I admire him a great deal, respect him even more, and I am delighted that he wants to work with me throughout the season. Plus he is damn determined; at 64 he is out riding with us almost everyday and it isn't like it is over for him after a week. Camps start in November and go until April or so. I don't know how he does it! The rides he's mapped out for us were beautiful and we would only rarely see cars so they were also very safe.

Interesting things I saw on rides:

• drunken man with no teeth dancing with a 26-er sloshing in his hand--looked like a movie extra from an old-western.
• deer carcass that moved each day from one side of the road to the other (probably the coyotes)
• dogs dogs dogs. Gotta watch out for the dogs as they have a real hate on for cyclists and come running each time we pass. best defense is to squirt them with water or just plain yell. Once, one of our campers ran over one. he ran pretty fast the other direction yelping. accidents happen (and to be fair, most of them just want to play)
• severed deer head--coyotes again i guess
• an armadillo
• a 5 minute-old lamb no bigger than the cats (more on them later)
• three live deer running right out in front of us
• the top secret military protected, helicoptor patrolled lockheed martin factory where they make Tomahawk cruise missiles.

I think that's about it. for the most part, it was rocks, trees and hills.

The title of this post is "Soap Opera Weekly" which is probably a bit of mystery until now. I've left the best for last: the campers. Aldo jokes that each week could be its own reality TV show and it is so true. The cast of characters that shows up is so mixed sometimes it is tough to take. I will profile a couple of the more memorable ones

Coach Aldo

Hard not to love. Italian Canadian who came to Canada at 6. Loud, loveable and totally devoted to cycling. He started the camp so that Renee, his wife, would have a place to train, then decided to share it with others too.

Renee

Lean, mean biking machine. began racing triathalons in 1989 and really kicked ass. she won 5th place in the Florida Iron Man in 2004 and now races bikes on the track with a pro women's team out of Windsor. Her rides were always on the fast side and she is super strong. also has two cats, Little Bear and Chi-chi.

Little Bear

5 month old all-grey kitten just learning about the world rescued from a hard life by the humane society and adopted by Renee. Great people cat, comes when called, does great tricks and will cuddle up and snooze with you just as soon as playfight you.

Chi-chi

Little Bear's teacher, friend, playmate and punching bag. Chi-chi used to be a very social cat but is now a killing machine. she has passed on her skills to little bear who practises all day long in the backyard. Both cats have to come in at night so the coyotes don't eat them--but I am convinced that in a fight with a coyote, Chi-chi would win. Chi-chi is also very vocal and sometimes it sounds like she is saying actual words.

The Doctor, Tennessee

Memorable quote: "Voltaire said that a good doctor needs only the ability to amuse his patients long enough for the body to heal itself". I would agree with Voltaire on that one. Doctor Dave also suggests that all the people on the government tab following the New Orleans disaster "should all be shot". So at first I thought he was a very educated enlightened man (following voltaire and all) but then i wasn' so sure.

The Three Firemen, Toronto

Three firemen showed up from Toronto and wouldn't you know it? they are from the hall that is responsible for rescuing me in case of emergency. Like all emergency workers I have met, they were laid-back funny guys always with a joke ready. They told me about life in the firehall, which includes waterballoon launchers, and were great to have around. I missed them on week two.

The Hammerhead part 1, Michigan

There is an understanding during spring training among most serious athletes that it is not the time to race. race season is the time to race. however, at every camp, in every group there is always at least one guy who feels the need for speed. Riding with him was like walking my dog. I'd do 5km, he'd do 25 going back and forth up the road, disrupting traffic, making us wonder where he is, and totally oblivious to any common sense.

The Go-Getter. Michigan

We had Kacey on camp one, a 19-year-old superstar with her whole career ahead of her. I was really impressed with how motivated she is and she's got the legs to back it up. She was also a huge help to Aldo as Renee has a real job as well that has her on the road for short periods, so Kacey somehow shared camp running duties and got in all the workouts.

The Bike Shop Guy, Michigan

Bob was a pleasure to have around as he is also a mechanic. his bike was scary light (lighter than the low limit on tour de France bikes) and he easily falls victim to the need for speed. He stayed the whole two weeks with us too.

Camp Week 2: Even more characters....

The Stripper, Ontario

Down for a month, I was surpised to find out I was rooming with a Dancer. The problem was, she seemed to have trouble turning off her professional front as she often went about scantily clad and spoke to all the men as a peeler does. She got a little tiring, I'll be honest. Her husband (!) stayed home to look after her "kids" (two dogs apparently). She hired a "trainer" who she spent a lot of time emailing but it sounds like she is paying him too much. She hadn't put any miles on her legs before coming, felt fatigued after riding a few days and wrote to him to ask his opinion. although the obvious answer is "you are just getting used to the riding" he told her she didn't have enouhg protein in her diet. This is just what she wants to hear because it is easier to take a pill isn't it? so in a week, when she feels better once her body has adjusted, she'll think it is because of the protein and give him a raise. frustrating but true. She carries around a binder in which she records every detail of her bodily functions. And I thought I was serious. Also, she uses the word "yummy". Memorable quote: "for every pound of seafood that ends up on your plate, there are a thousand pounds wasted". All week, she'd come up with little tidbits of information, but at least they came one line at a time. then there was...

The Know-it-all, Toronto

This guy has done too much reading. Instead of just a one-liner fact about tuna, he would delve into a deep conversation about some obscure topic he is sure to dominate as no one else has time to read 1000 pages on seafood production. He works for a software company and speaks in a way that is as irritating as it is condescending. He also believes that the carryon luggage limit of two bags is there just to make his life difficult and has nothing to do with safety. also, must have the last word. plus, he was the biggest man I had seen all week so the fact that he put down all that mileage was impressive.

The Know-It-All's Wife

If I didn't know they were married I would have never guessed. I would have thought that perhaps he was her butler instead. when she got tired, she'd make him go and block wind for her. she was the only one more opinionated than her husband but most of her opinions were about how she felt the dinner would be better cooked, the rides better run, or the training better accomplished. it got really tiring. she isn't a racer, but trains for one event in france that follows one stage of the tour. it is timed. she was the alpha-female and whenever she went to the front of the pack for a pull, she'd push the pace. then when the pace got pushed beyond what she could take, she "threw her toys" and quit. she reminded me a lot in appearance of the cat in my house, Chanel. on the last day, despite the complaining, she said she thought the camp was the best thing ever. le sigh.

pick up here tomorrow for more from the Dirty South. Same bat time, same bat channel.