California here I come.

Yes sir!

Meat pie, please.

As I sit at my desk at work, it occurs to me that the only reason I do not have today off is that there are no black people at my office. If there were even one, I'd be home right now. As the lone representative of colored people here, I really ought to pipe up. Piping up is how holidays happen.

I finally saw Juno and it is great. A friend said she was slightly annoyed that it seemed like a big ad for American Apparel but I didn't notice that. I was slightly distracted by all the Moldy Peaches. But all in all, it is the best movie I've seen in a long time, and even slides in under a hundred minutes like all great movies do. I have a huge crush on Ellen Page. I'm pretty sure she is a lot smarter than me, though, and she wouldn't stand for my idiocy.

If I were on double-dare, I'd take the physical challenge every time

Adventures are one of my favorite things. When Karl asked me to ride the Burke-Gilman trail so he could write about it for his magazine, I obliged and so this report is for Karl to pilfer as he sees fit.

Karl's suggested story angle was that I ride the trail as someone new to Seattle. This is true but I am not only new to Seattle, I am also new to urban trails and, frankly, new to biking in general.

On consecutive weekends, I carried out the riding of the Burke-Gilman. Last Saturday, I rode the first "half" from the U-District to Ballard.

It was not much fun. Admittedly, part of it could've been the cold drizzly weather. But the trail was undergoing renovation here and there, and there were parts that were unintuitive; I even lost the trail a couple times.

I was unfamiliar with the idea of urban trails entirely, but they seem useful. There was no sharing the road with cars:

Only cyclists and pedestrians are allowed, each having their own side of the road to prevent tragic fatalities. As the name of Karl's magazine (Rails to Trails Conservancy) would tell you, the Burke-Gilman was originally a railroad that was abandoned and converted into a trail. This first half between the University District and Ballard runs along the Lake Washington Ship Canal. Across the canal is downtown, and the ride afforded decent views of this:

It is often cloudy in Seattle, as you have heard and can clearly see.

Fortunately for me, the Burke-Gilman is a Drug-Free Zone. Thank god I was off the regular streets that are rampant with recreational drug use. The trail has a very impressive flatness despite the topographical eccentricities of Seattle:

There were not too many people out that Saturday, I imagine because of the weather and the day. It seemed to me that this part of the trail was mostly useful for commuters -- students and professors and staff that needed to get to and from the University of Washington. The trail runs through two trendy and residential neighborhoods, Fremont and Ballard, with a stop at Gasworks Park in between.

As I made my way along, I was reminded of New Years Eve, when Andres and I were stranded in Fremont and ended up spending New Years with random frat boys and sorority girls at assorted bars. Then we walked home, and I didn't realize we were on the Burke-Gilman, but I remembered the exact spot I spoke to the 18 year old girl, and also the other spot where I stopped to pee.

By the time I reached Hale's Brew Pub, I was nearing the end.

And here is Mile 0. I half expected to see the thing measured in smoots. Alas.

I turned around and went back to the U-District. This took twenty minutes, including one part where I got lost near the Fremont bridge. The whole trip was generally disappointing. I could not see how it differed much from riding streets, except it lacks the whole excitement factor that goes with possibly being run over by a car.

A week later...

This past Sunday, on a balmy 50-degree, clear and sunny day, I rode the other "half" and my general feelings about it could not be any more different. Still, there were no cars, and still it was generally flat, but what ended up being an approximately twenty-two mile ride (40 miles round trip!) from urbia to suburbia, I saw more of Seattle than I ever had, and began to understand this strange love of the "outdoors" everyone keeps writing about in, among other places, myspace profiles and personal ads, that I had hitherto shrugged at.

Here is a map of the route I took, including from my house to the trail itself:

Notice I end in Hollywood. Fame and fortune did not await me there.

Again I began at the University. This part of the trail was smoke-free, to prevent lung cancer, but not drug-free, to promote creative thinking.

The skies were clear except for a few of those blob-like water-vapor thingies. This first mile or so, alongside the university, felt mostly like being on a suburban campus. Around me were mostly young kids, pursuing knowledge, or something.

As the school faded behind me, the stream of students peeled off and the trail settled into its natural state. That is, it looks exactly like what I pictured a trail (or maybe even path) to look like, except with concrete:

It was often shaded, clearly marked, and just wide enough that there were no problems when I had to pass walkers and runners, or when every other bicyclist had to pass me.

On the trail, a cross section of Seattle could be observed: here we had the competitive runners and healthy joggers, elderly couples walking, families on an outing, couples bicycling side by side, couples tandem bicycling, runners pushing along a stroller, bicycles with a back toddler seat, the overweight doing their best, the rare hippie (or lumbar disadvantaged) on a recumbent, dorks in full cycling gear, rollerbladers, and me, in my ridiculously heavy but superawesome cruiser.

The scenic view was mostly beautiful and slightly obscured, interspersed with repetitive foliage, and the slightly less beautiful and even more obscured. The trail runs northeast along the periphery of Lake Washington and on a clear day like Sunday, the mountains come out and the bustle of the city recedes the further out you get on the trail.

One of my complaints of the U-District to Ballard part is its grit, its indistinguishability from riding on a city street, save for the cars. On this second half, owing possibly to the pleasant weather, and probably to the fact that I did leave the city, I experienced a noticeably distinct calm coming over me. I wouldn't say I felt one with nature, but I felt its embrace, and it was a calming and welcoming one. I perambulated at my leisurely pace with little mind (or ability) to go faster. A couple passed me and I shouted out "everybody is faster than me," and they started laughing allowing me to take the lead until they repassed me ten feet later.

I cannot remember exactly what I thought about, but it was a juxtaposed excitement and calm. I smelled the air a few times to see if it was really different, or if it was just me. I wasn't more than fifteen miles from home, but it felt much further than that. I do not know suburbs well. But as the trail briefly ran alongside a main street, I noticed its strip-mally nature, and I looked at the road signs that exited to towns like Everett, and I knew this was not Seattle. (And I often complain about how suburby Seattle is!)

The Burke-Gilman ends, according to King County, in Kenmore. I was unaware as the trail simply turns into the Sammamish River Trail, and when I saw the sign for a new trail, I had flashbacks of the week before when I got lost.

I stopped a father and son walking on the trail to ask if I had lost the Burke-Gilman somehow, and the father replied that I had not, that it became the Sammamish River Trail, extends another ten miles, and that everyone calls it the Burke-Gilman, anyway. Then the young son chimed in and said, "Daddy, can we go yet?"

I had neither map, nor odometer. I had a bagel with cream cheese earlier for breakfast, and ReeseSticks in my pocket; my fuel efficiency was off the charts. I kept going and kept my eye on the sun while it did its thing. Eventually I reached a rest area, five miles later, where there was a volume of people resting.

It seemed a good place to end the adventure. I was ridiculously tired. I used the restroom, and ate my ReeseSticks, with its four grams of protein. People told me how awesome my bike was. It was around three; I had left my house at twelve-thirty. I texted Emily and let her know I was all the way in Woodinville, and she said I should at least go to the wineries. Making inquiries, I was but a mile away from them. Additionally, I was told, I wasn't too far from the Red Hook Brewery. Remembering Hale's Brew Pub from a week ago, I realized I had no choice but to finish at Red Hook, for symmetry's sake.

I enjoyed a nice ale (and felt it on my empty stomach):

I left the brewery in good spirits at around three fourty-five. At three fourty-eight, I realized my legs were dead. I always seem to forget that the out-and-back trip requires the foresight that wherever you end is only halfway there. But I was already done!

On the way back, I made careful note of where the Burke-Gilman starts. It starts here:

The darkness came quickly, along with its chill, and I labored back the twenty miles. To my left, a sunset:

And then it got dark, and if there is one real complaint about the trail, it is that it is not lit. Disregarding the fact that I really should have my light fixed, I still think there should be some lights, for safety's sake. There were few people left; everyone had gone home. Other bicyclists passed me. Blinking lights came the other way. Joggers here and there. To let people know I was there, and because I had such a fun day, I rang my bell the entire way home.

beat movement

This article talks about the science of choosing the right workout music. I have tried a myriad of playlists for when I (rarely) run. The article is probably right that something fast paced is your best bet. However, I have come to really enjoy running to classical music. The songs are really long, so I've gone much farther after listening to a single song. But what I really like about classical music is conducting while I'm running. Everyone on the road seems to think I'm crazy, though.

Hillary's Catch-23

Karl commented to me that Hillary, too, should fall under "Barack's Paradox" (described in the blog post below) because she is a woman. There are three reasons why she does not: a) Hillary's Paradox does not have the same ring to it, b) Hillary is a Clinton and her relation to Bill means she isn't an underdog, c) Hillary has not acted like a woman, dressed like a woman, etc. I think her little meltdown was the best thing that could've happened to her campaign. It makes her more of a woman, more human, and less of a Clinton. It made her more likeable. It's probably why she won New Hampshire. Obama's appeal for change is really just an appeal against the favorites, the frontrunners, the Clintons, the Bushes. It is an underdog's rally cry. If I am Hillary Clinton's strategist, I would tell her to wear a skirt and show some skin. I would tell her to be a woman.

Barack's Paradox, or Why Barack Obama will win the Democratic nomination

The frontrunner's curse is a not-always-true maxim that applies to everything from the Heisman Trophy to politics. John McCain and Hillary Clinton were the frontrunners for their party's respective presidential nomination entering 2007, and both have had their stride broken by the year's end. Frontrunners are gunned down because of increased scrutiny and inevitable backlash; likeable underdogs are lifted to the top because who doesn't like underdogs?

Political campaigns hinge on timing: Mike Huckabee might win the Republican nomination because he went from underdog to frontrunner without enough time for people to realize he is actually insane, even as McCain is regaining strength as an underdog. The frontrunner's curse is even more pronounced for Democrats because they fancy themselves the party for underdogs (minorities, poor, uninsured, atheists, andys), and Barack Obama sprinted his way to the front, overtaking Clinton with a gust of perfect timing that Einstein would be proud of (relatively speaking). He will stay there, too, because the brilliance of Barack Obama is that even though he is now the frontrunner, the fact that he is black will always make him an underdog. He is the frontrunner and the underdog at the same time! By virtue of the fact that no results show up in a Google search for the phrase, I am officially inventing the term "Barack's Paradox" to describe this contradiction. Barack's Paradox is the most advantageous position you can have as a candidate for the Democratic presidential nomination.

The Books of Planets

Naming a book The [Whatever] of [Planet] seems to be a fairly popular practice for fiction writers, often with very good results. Nobel Prize winner W.G. Sebald wrote the very good novel The Rings of Saturn. Alice Munro, respected Canadian, wrote The Moons of Jupiter. I've only read these two, but a search yields many more books based on our solar system.

The Heaven of Mercury by Brad Watson.

The Transit of Venus by Shirley Hazzard, winner of the 1980 National Book Critics Circle Award.

The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follet, an Oprah pick.

The Gods of Mars by Edgar Burroughs, a work of science fiction from he who introduced to us Tarzan.

The Fountains of Neptune by Rikki Ducornet.

In fact, all the planets are represented except Uranus (Pluto isn't a planet anymore.) I shall fill this cavity by writing a book called The Pimples of Uranus.