Go Big, or Go Home

The Ironman is coming.

I can't stop it.

Can't put it off in any way.

On July 20th, 2008, about 2000 very fit people will jump in Mirror Lake in Lake Placid NY to set off on a day of excruciating fun. And I'm one of them.

Since signing up in August, I've been downplaying the whole thing. Anyone who asks me about it is hit with my standard "I've never wanted to do one of these...I'm not looking forward to this...Ironman is a ridiculous race...I'm only doing this because my friends sucked me into it" answer. It's easy to act like I don't want to do the Ironman because that way the pressure is off me.

But it's not true.

As I've discovered in the past three weeks, I'm really excited, honoured and privileged to have the chance to take part in this huge challenge.

Tony O'Keefe changed my attitude. Tony has done dozens of Ironmans, as well as the Race Across America (LA - NY on a bicycle), and a few Double Ironmans. Tony loves to challenge himself, and isn't shy about telling the world. He came to talk to a group I belong to, and as he spoke, I realised that I wasn't being respectful to all the driven, highly-motivated people who put so much of themselves into a competition like Ironman. Sure, most know they won't win. That's not why they're there. Every reason for entering is different in some way...and yet, as Tony pointed out, they're all exactly the same too: we all WANT to do it.

We want to do it so badly, that we endure ridiculous training regimens. We negotiate time from our families and work places.

We do this because nothing makes you feel more alive than rising to a challenge that seemed so unbeatable when you first heard of it, that you knew you could never even think of taking it on.

I had an uncle who visited more cities than I could ever hope to. He went to places any one of us would be thrilled to experience. He travelled the world...to take pictures through a bus window, and complain about the poor television in his room, and the lousy meals the group was given. He totally wasted his chance to live a bit bigger.

I don't want my Ironman legacy to be that I'd watched the NBC special from the privacy of my comfy couch, drinking a cold beer.

I need to get in there and find out what it's really all about.

I'm gonna be an Ironman!

Be Careful of What You Read

So what do you do for a living?

I have the greatest job in the world (next to driving the Oakland Raiders Cheerleader Bus) getting up early, playing some song and talking to the finest city on the planet.

Beat that!

There are some things about this job that defy logic. For example: the best time slot for a dj is the early morning show, and all of us work long hard hours to be good enough to get up at 3:30am, drag out sorry butts into work, put together a show and pull it off every day. This is coupled with an insane amount of "personal appearances" which are anything from introducing a hot act at a club to mcing a major charity event. Sleep is a myth. Family life is precious. Being able to open your mouth in public and not have someone stare at you with that "I know you, don't I?" look on her or his face...well that's all gone.

And we love it.

And what do you complain about? Do you ever get personal, telling someone that the place they work at sells products you just would never buy, or that you didn't like the way they spoke to you on the sales floor? We get it all the time. "I don't like that kind of music." "The guy on there in the morning has an awful voice." "You suck." All delivered with a smile.

And we love it.

The point of having a good radio station is to serve an audience. We work very hard (not just at my station, but at all radio stations in this city) to make sure we're doing what the audience wants us to do, within the confines of the very specific, and sometimes very odd rules that our governing body the CRTC lays out for us. If you're a private broadcaster, and your audience has the right mix of ages, genders and lifestyle choices, you can sell commercial time to local and national businesses who want their message delivered to the people who will help them to prosper.

Some days are better than others. Getting to stay up around the clock to cover Natalie Lambert's swim(s) across Lake Ontario with Mike Reid from Bob FM, was priceless. Helping raise money for a young leukemia victim. Meeting music stars. All good. Then there's the time that two large jetliners flew into the World Trade Center in the middle of what was a fun and fluffy morning show, or the time I heard my favorite station stop the music to tell me that John Lennon had been shot.

The days in between make up most of our careers in this business. Those days when the only thing that matters is the minutiae that makes up our everyday lives.

And we love it.

Critics, pundits and people with vested interests will come along from time to time, giving their insight into what radio is all about. Sometimes they're dead on. At other times, they just don't get it. Their opinions are important to us, because they're just that: opinions. We in this business need to know what others think of us...what people say about us. We need it as much as we need those folks who love us and everything we do.

So if you ever need to know what's "really going on" in the radio biz. If you ever feel you're not getting the whole story about the ratings, the firings, the hirings, and the music changes. Ask one of us who are truly "inside" the business. Better still, ask a bunch of us, from different companies, formats and backgrounds.

Otherwise, you're just getting whatever someone wants to feed you. Good, bad or whatever.

Old? Who's old?

What was I thinking?

Back when I first Googled (seems so long ago) I did what everyone else does, and swears they'd never do. You've done it, so stop lying that you haven't. It, of course is Googling oneself.

What a non-event that was. My name came up thanks to my company's website, and from about a million races I'd entered that published their results online.

Still...I came up on Google!

Did it again a couple of days ago, and whadya know, my name came up on the company website, and about ten million races I'd been in that published their results online. Then, there was one more. There's a blogger here in Kingston who calls himself the "Kingston Radio Insider." He says that he wants to start a dialogue that will help educate advertisers in an objective way so they can better understand what's "really" going on in the market. Fair enough. So I read further and found my new station 989 The Drive mentioned. He seemed to like what we were about to do on the air, and even mentioned me as the new morning host. Okay. Then I went a bit further to find him asking "...the Spring book will tell us if CTVglobemedia can put an old Kingston jock to grab the young male audience." So you know, the Spring Book is a ratings tool that all stations in the country use to gauge their audience and set advertising rates.

Old Kingston jock?

Kingston...yes. Jock...definitely. Old...kind of harsh don't you think? Eddie Vedder and I are the same age. Eddie Vedder can't be old! Yipes! If you're going to put me in a slot, why the hell would you choose old? I've spent my entire life getting told that I'm TOO YOUNG to do things which I want to do. NOW I'M OLD!

Call me too skinny. Make fun of my crazy hair. My squeaky voice. My inability to talk in a slick, formatted, focused manner.

Just don't call me OLD!

Here's a thought: Kingston Radio Blogger, how about you and I go for a little run together. Nothing more than five k's. I'll set the pace. Then we can see who feels old.

Gawd I hope you're not fast!

*#$? for Brains!

Today, I saw him for the second time. The first time, I thought maybe it was one of those "did I really see that" moments. But sadly, I saw what I saw. More on that in a moment.

Ontario Police are saying they cannot believe the number of people they're nailing under the new "Street Racing" laws. I get a little queasy thinking that there are so many people who are sharing the road with me...no, that would be: who have no intention of sharing the road with anybody. 50km above the speed limit is bad on the 401. It's awful on the secondary highways. It's criminal on city streets.

The people who are getting popped, having their vehicles impounded for a week and face potential fines up to 10,000 bucks are lucky. Cops who I've spoken with would like the fines much higher, the punishment tougher and the margin (how much over the limit) much lower.

Police are also using the new law to hit people who race or do stupid stunts with their vehicles. Like the guy who got ticketed under the new law for popping an impressive, but idiotic wheeley on his motorcycle, in traffic!

The Ontario government is still contemplating similar laws to curb driver-cellphone-use, and some of the other mindless acts that they're witnessing on the road.

So when I saw Silver Grand Am with Headphones On guy coming up behind me in my rear view mirror...I got as far to the right side of the road as I could. Now on a bike, you have to understand that there isn't much right side of the road to get over to, as you're already at the limit. Our city has gone so far as to put 5 inch high concrete curbs along most of it's roadways (perhaps they made a deal long ago with LeFarge), that pretty well keep you in your tiny little bike allowance zone (also called referred to by local fisher persons and delivery persons as "parking"), with no hope of bailing out completely when Silver Grand Am with Headphones on guy comes screaming up behind you, passing all the traffic in that's in the "passing" lane and using about 1/3 of the bike lane.

Aside from the speeding, the overtaking traffic on the right, the driving in the bike lane (oh I forgot, we don't' have bike lanes, my bad) and the just plain lack of skills this person shows...HE'S WEARING FRIGGIN' FULL-EAR HEADPHONES!!! Does he hear horns beeping? No. Emergency vehicle sirens? No. His passenger's witty quotes and observations? What?

Yeah. This dink is driving (and I'm complementing him by saying "driving") with his full-ear headphones on, listening to who knows what kind of horrible crappy music at inner-ear numbing volume...while someone is in the car with him!

He isn't even going to hear the blood-curdling screams from his passenger when he finally drives them into a fiery wreck.

THAT is just not respectful.

The End is the Beginning

CKLC used to be the coolest thing in Kingston.

I arrived here just as 1380 CKLC was starting to make its move on the big station in town, 960 CKWS. Jim Waters had just taken over the station , and was reshaping it to sound like a BIG radio station in a small city.

We were an eclectic mix of individuals. Some, like me, still weren't of legal drinking age. We had come here to prove that we knew everything about everything. Most of us planned to spend about six months at CKLC, where we'd be recognized for our genius and talent, then whisked off to a major market, where we rightfully belonged.

It took me five minutes to learn that things may not quite go that way. Just before airtime my new boss sat me down with the ground rules (and there were many). I was so nervous upon opening the microphone switch for the first time that I literally screamed out the first ten second intro. And the second. And the next one... In the blink of an eye, my personality was defined. I was not the slick, well-paced announcer from CHLO St. Thomas, who could professionally introduce and backsell songs with list upon list of relevant, hard to find information about the artists.

No...I was now "Screamin' Jim Elyot." My parents would be so proud. Some (until now) hidden facet of my personality exploded onto the air every night. I was loud, rude, and lascivious. Mostly loud.

It took years of, well, ageing for my style to tone down. Five more years of being on the best Top 40 station in Canada, 680 CFTR squeezed even more style into my shows.

A lot is said about how great radio used to be. People bring up names from the past. Mostly djs who weren't known so much for what they said, but "how" they said it. Great big voices with far-too-easy-to-say names, who could punch out ten second intro after ten second intro.

Most of them are gone now.

Some of us managed to stay at it. I left Toronto for the more family-friendly environment of Kingston, where I had to learn very fast how to be a morning host. Eventually, the lure of management pulled me in another direction, which thankfully was ended before I became a complete *#&hole.

And here I am. Working a great show on an awesome station, and preparing for the end of another. 1380 CKLC will flip to FM at the end of this month. It's no longer the coolest thing in Kingston...unless you're one of the 60+ aged people in the main audience.

Some of the retirees I talk to now on CKLC, were in their prime when I started. I was probably that "screaming Jim Idiot" who they couldn't stand listening to, day after day after day.

Perhaps I still am.

Ban This!

As the youngest of three kids, I learned two things very early on. The first was that my older brother and sister would always side with each other, making it very difficult to get my way. The second was that if I ratted either or both of them out to my mom, they would suffer, and if either or both of them tried to retaliate, I'd loudly explain how they were now banned from whatever activity got them into trouble in the first place.

My sister would always fold at this point, as she was all about the rules. My brother, on the other hand, would go back to the banned activity while proudly proclaiming "so what?"

The lesson was clear: follow the rules, unless you want to have fun.

Our beautiful, but sometimes misguided city has thousands of bylaws on the books. We may have more than most cities, but that could be less a product of an over-zealous city government, and more closely related to the fact that we have more lawyers per capita than anywhere on the planet.

This week, Kingston City Council is debating whether or not to ban road hockey from Kingston streets. Public opinion is divided, though not equally. We did a quick and non-scientific (so probably deadly accurate) poll regarding this possible new law. The great majority of responses called banning street-hockey as un-Canadian. Others protested that it would keep our young ones from getting much-needed physical activity. Many others said it was simply "stupid."

On the other side of the fence, some people regarded it as a safety issue that was unfortunate but necessary thanks to the thoughtlessness of drivers. A few more found the fact that kids played hockey in the streets as dangerous to society. These are probably the same people who cover their windows with aluminum foil to protect them from spy satellites, but they are welcome to an opinion too.

One side note: almost half the responses said that street hockey should be allowed on cul-de-sacs and dead ends. Until this debate, I was unaware that cul-de-sacs were in any way different from dead ends. The things you learn.

So the debate will rage at council tonight. Some councillors will grandstand for the cameras, taking which ever side scores them the most political capital. Some others will listen and argue logically for whichever side they feel makes the most sense socially. A few will ask that council spend more time on issues that really matter. In the end a decision will be made, and a new bylaw, or re-wording of the present one will result.

We're so good at banning things we feel a threat. My son has a person on his paper route who quite loudly protests a few times a year that he doesn't want a paper delivered...even though my son has never done so. There's a huge outcry locally to ban "street parties" so those horrible Queen's students stop the insane nonsense on Aberdeen street. There is provincial legislation that takes away a driver's license for some offences.

And the result?

Well, my sister would never deliver the unwanted paper, and feel badly that the man was upset at getting one even though she didn't give it to him. She'd stay away from Aberdeen street if God forbid, she ever had her license pulled...she'd not drive.

My brother would leave a pile of papers neck-high on the guy's stoop; dance on an overturned burning car on Aberdeen...even if it wasn't Homecoming, and if you ever took his license away, he'd have driven anyway.

And my point?

My mom learned a long long time ago that you can't legislate good behaviour. But if you lay out a litany of rules and regulations, you can bring out the worst in some people.

Car!

I Blame The English

I disgusted myself last night. It was about 10:30, and I realized that I'd been watching television pretty much non-stop since about 7pm. Three and one half hours of my life which I'll never get back. Was I watching classic comedy? Informative documentaries? Compelling drama?

No.

I barely watched one single program in its entirety. I started with "Daily Planet" on Discovery. It was either Jay Ingram's new perky co-host, or some bland commercials, but something got me flipping around. Found a debate on TVO. Not so good. Took in a bit of a comedy on CBS...same old jokes...same old laugh track...blah. Flicked and flicked and flicked until the Monday Night Football game came on. Bengals and Pats. Almost compelling, but still...blah. Flick flick flick. Part of Access Hollywood...dull. CSI, CSI Miami, CSI New York...and old Street Legal (interesting hair, but I think I've seen them all so many times). CNN was ranting about something so meaningless that I nodded off for a few moments.

Blah!

By 10:30, I'd watched almost the entire first half of a show on TVO about the Anglo-Saxon kings of England and how they created the political system that survives today. The guy had a cool accent, and the story was decent too. I liked the names of the characters: "Ethelred The Unready", "Knut the Dane," "Edward the Confessor."

But at 10:30, it occurred to me that I'd barely moved off the couch in this time. My kids saw their dad slowly being consumed by our old love seat. I'd moved the phone to the coffee table, so I wouldn't lose my carefully choreographed slouch.

I'd spent over three hours, de-composing in front of a TV that offered banal dross aimed at idiots. Like me! I was disgusted!

Had to do something to redeem myself. What to do? What to do?

Finally, it came to me. I got up, opened the pantry and made popcorn, poured a soft drink and consumed the whole mess in twenty minutes watching the conclusion of the English Kings thing.

After all, Ethelred the Unready is an hilarious name, and the guy had a pretty cool accent.

It's not my fault!

All I wanted was for them to come and haul away my old fridge like they said they would. That's it. I was not interested in how busy they were, how other employees didn't do their jobs right or how "sometimes these things happen."

Just come and get the fridge!

My wife and I decided that it was time to give the North American power grid a break and buy a new power-saving refrigerator. We ended up getting one that was not only easy on electricity, but also could fit enough food to feed our growing (and growing and growing) son.

That part was easy.

When we bought it, the store offered to take our old one off our hands for 20 bucks. To me that was a deal. But my wife said there was this program she'd heard about where the government would come and get the old appliance and make sure it was disposed of properly (as in not plugged back in by someone who bought it second hand from a retailer).

So we stuck the old fridge in our garage.

Where it sat.

And sat.

And....sat.

Finally the Ontario Power Corporation started running commercials on 98 3 Fly FM (a fine fine radio station with probably the best late-morning show I've ever heard) saying they'd come around and take it away. So I booked an appointment on the Internet. They called back to say they'd come in about five weeks.

I was a bit disappointed, but still happy that we'd get rid of the old thing, and save me at least 20 bucks, so I did everything they asked which included plugging in the old machine to make sure it worked and to do so again 24 hours before pickup. They were very clear about the four hour window in which they'd come around, and I was thrilled to know that I'd done something that would clean at least a small portion of our Sanford and Son-esque garage.

Yesterday was f-day. My window started at 2pm, so I booked off early from work and rode home like crazy to be there early. Got in at 1:30, and saw the message light flashing on the phone. It was the fridge guy telling me that I was not there when he came, so I'd have to reschedule.

Damn!

Re-checked the date and time. Nope, I was right...2pm-6pm on the 26th.

Called appliance-central, and talked to a nice guy who said he'd get to the bottom of this and get them to come back and pick it up.

So I waited.

And waited.

And...waited.

At 6:05 I called the 800 number again. The nice woman who answered told me that I must have had the day or time or both wrong. Nope, I'd even been reminded by her call centre the night before and wrote the details down.

She continued to point out that a) the message may have got out wrong to the driver, b) the person who notified me the night before may have got it wrong, c) I probably got it wrong, d) the driver may have got there early (duh) and before she could get to e) I simply asked her to come and get my fridge. Like I was promised.

Here's the point. Sometimes things get messed up. I know this because I've lived it. I don't need to know who's fault it is, what caused the problem or even why this happens. Who did what doesn't fix my problem...a friggin' fridge in my garage!!!

Have you noticed how often this happens though? You aren't calling some place to blame the person on the phone for whatever problem has come up. But the person on the other end gives you the whole litany of what can and probably did go wrong and who in particular causes this.

"The Customer is always right" doesn't have to be proved by "here are the reasons this place I work for always screws up."

Just take a little responsibility. Convince me that you want to fix my problem. Stop ratting out your co-workers and employer.

...and come and get my fridge.

The Truth About Bikes and Cars

One centimetre closer and my handlebars would have been firmly planted in her passenger door!

Why is it that whenever you listen to those folks who supposedly love to ride their bikes, that all they wan to talk about is the latest rude, stupid, selfish thing some moron in a car, truck, SUV, van (usually a van) or semi has done to them?

Don't they realize how difficult it is to remain calm and empathetic toward cyclists when all of them ride like ten-year-old kids on a BMX? How many times does one of them come out of nowhere, fail to signal, zoom in front of you or hop up on the sidewalk to get around your car?

Bike riders bring this upon themselves!

Before I could even react, his car brushed the mirror on my bike...another millimetre and he'd have knocked me flying!

When you're driving, there's enough to worry about: stupid distracted drivers, road-hogging vehicles, out of control motorcycle riders, pedestrians walking out in front of you, dogs, those ridiculous scooters with the little orange "safety" flags oh, and let's not even get me going about buses. Add cyclists into the mix, and it's no wonder that there are close calls.

It isn't the fault of the people driving!

When the car passed the dump truck on the right, he slammed right into the woman on her bike, then continued up the road as though nothing had happened.

The worst part of it all is that when I'm driving, I'm in a hurry! There's so much traffic on the roads, and my boss is such a stickler about us being on time. If I don't get down there fast, the good parking spots will all be gone. All it takes is one idiot on a bike eating up two feet of roadway that I need to get past some slow-motion moron who's using the left lane!

Bikes and cars just don't mix.

I ride my bike to work every day. I drive my car at other times. I've seen some bad things done by people driving, and I've seen some bad things done by people on bikes. I get as ticked at drivers who ignore stop signs as I do at cyclists who think it's okay to ride up on the sidewalk.

But here's the thing: bikes scratch cars. Cars kill cyclists.

Next time you drive, imagine that person riding the bike on your right is your child. Do you want them to have a safe trip to wherever they're going, regardless of how they're conducting themselves?

To the woman driving the Caravan who almost knocked me off the bike yesterday...I'm sure your reasons for veering into the right lane on King Street so you could pass all the cars stopped at Portsmouth are all valid! I'm sure my shouting in your passenger window at the light was drowned out by your stimulating conversation.

So have I ever told you about the time the guy on the cellphone knocked me off my bike? Well, I was riding along Front road...

The other guy's a jerk...so pick me!

Okay, the attack ads have to go! We've been getting these American-styled political ads on TV since early summer, and I was sick of them then. Now they're getting me angry.

The content of an attack ad is usually about as stupid as the people they expect to buy what they're selling. Getting your message out to the voters has been pushed aside for getting a catchy negative nick name for your opponent(s).

It works like this: "Hey, do you like that guy?" "Sure, he's okay." "Well I think he's an idiot...so that makes you an idiot. But my guy's not an idiot." "So what if I say I like him?" "That would mean that I won't call you an idiot anymore."

A typical attack ad shows an unflattering picture of the person we're supposed to NOT vote for, plus his name, perhaps his catchy negative nickname. Then it proceeds to slander him in a subtle and legal-enough way. Then it switches quickly at the end to a shot of the guy they want you to vote for and his colourful party logo.

Make the other guy look as bad as you can and hammer away at any one easy to remember perceived deficiency until the public starts to buy it.

The "debate" won't be any better. The ones who aren't in power will gang up on the one who is. They'll speak in carefully crafted sound bytes and move their hands in carefully learned gestures, and promise nothing.

Do I sound cynical? Well I should! I've been fed this crap via TV for years. What makes it even worse is that if any other product was sold this way, there'd be lawsuits and great loud of anguish from the attackees.

What makes me really queasy about all this is that these moronic ads work. They've become such a part of the American political landscape that anyone who tries to run a decent issues-first campaign and who shows respect and admiration for his opponent is doomed. Look at the wahoos that poor nation elected...then RE-elected.

I know I'm just one person, and I'll never stem this tide of negative name-calling, but at least it's given me inspiration for how to vote in this election. I'm dumbing myself down even further than the ad agencies are willing to go. The first politician whose face I see or name I hear in every ad, is the one I vote for. Regardless of who it is, or what the ad is saying about them. I'm keeping tabs of all the ads I hear and see. Whoever has the most points on October 10th gets my vote.

Think of it as just my tiny personal plan for electoral reform.

Seasons change

Late September kind of sucks for me.

Two dates come up on the calendar that get to me, no matter how I work to get past them. I lost my brother and my dad in late September. Both died after battles with cancer - my brother lost his within a year, but my dad, well he wasn't going to let something as meaningless as a disease get him. He fought back hard - winning round one (throat) and taking a technical decision on round two (esophagus) before being taken by the failure of some other important parts of his body.

I was very close to my brother. Not so much with my dad.

Interestingly, I've come to be more and more like the latter than the former.

Life is unpredictable that way.

When my dad got sick, we both tried, but we still never bridged the gap between us. Our differences remained as strong as ever. I couldn't see him as a sympathetic character in this play...he refused to let his mortality soften his opinion of the world. It's ironic that we both agreed on the fact that neither of us wanted for me to follow his unique path through life.

After he was gone, I felt that I'd let him down. Let the whole family down! It was as if I watched the whole thing on a movie screen, helpless in my seat. Then when the credits rolled, I walked away thinking I would have written it better.

Ten years later my brother got sick. Though he and I were very different in many ways, we were always close and had a great relationship. When he needed me to come visit him in the middle of the Northern Ontario bush, I was there. When he had to come to Toronto for treatments at Sunnybrook, I was there. When he was struggling through his last days, his mind tortured by the pain and the morphine...I was there.

Then he was gone too.

My sister and I live just miles away from each other here in Kingston. My brother's oldest lives even closer. We all have busy lives, and socialize much less than we could. For a while we tried all getting together for a big fun party in late September every year. I guess they thought it would be a great way to make me feel better. Control-freak therapy to get me over the fact that I feel like I was no help when these two guys needed all they could get.

Mid-month I always get out and do the Terry Fox Run. It feels great being a part of something that will eventually help bring an end to the suffering that cancer brings. For a day or two, I feel pretty good.

But late September...well that always sucks for me.

Stupid Bike

I got dropped by the guys I was riding with on Saturday.

For anyone who's ever been on a group ride, it's not a great feeling. For anyone who hasn't. It's that same feeling you got the first time you noticed that you were no longer the fastest person on the rink...or even one of the fastest. It's humbling.

This year, I've been getting dropped alot. Either I'm getting older, or everyone I ride with is getting faster. Or I need a newer, shinier bike! Number three does sound more logical, but being the cheap bugger I am, it's also the least appealling explanation.

Saturday started out great. Heading into a really strong wind with four of my peers, each taking our turn out front to give everyone some rest. I stayed sensible and (for me) controlled until a couple of the guys started sprinting at all the town limit signs. I didn't stand a chance, but somehow convinced myself otherwise for about six ill-conceived sprints.

No matter how much of a lead I put together, these guys reeled me in and put me away.

Finally, on a hill near the end, I simply gave up and let the pack fly by. It was as if my mind and body finally came to an agreement and their solution to the day's ride was "who cares."

Next day, I ran with most of the crew from the day before. Pushed the pace from the first step. Dropped the bunch of them by the second km. Ten miles later, I was still all alone out front.

Saturday now seems like a long long time ago.

But I'm still thinkin' about that new bike!

Talk talk talk...crash!

You know that feeling you get when you see someone doing something you used to do, but now you totally disagree with? Perhaps seeing someone wear leg-warmers...or hockey hair...you know what I'm talking about?

As a former addict, I can now proudly announce that I'm three weeks sober. Three whole weeks without using my cellphone while driving a motor vehicle. People I used to call are no longer subjected to wind noise, traffic noise, or the loud and frightening sound of me objecting vociferously to everyone else's driving techniques. No more "hang on, I have to shift," or "wait, a police car is going by." No more looking at the keypad to dial a number while who-knows-what is happening in front of my vehicle. No more surprise red lights!

Now granted, I don't drive very much. I do use my bike to get where I need to go. But those conversations were even worse. The high (or maybe low) point was me sealing a deal for a voice over job with a producer in Phoenix while riding three inches from speeding wahoos along Front Road. The guy on the other end had a thick Spanish accent...the guy on this end was yelling over traffic noise while trying to hammer out the details of the verbal contract, for a very important commercial.

I can't believe I was such a dink!

Now when I get a call from somebody who's obviously driving somewhere, my first thought is "wow, I'm so far down on your priority list that you only talk to me when you're driving somewhere." It's that same feeling you get when you're invited to a party, the day of, or getting one of those "participant" medals at a race.

The other side of this is that talking on a cellular telephone while driving is dumb. Ever drive with one of those people who need to make eye contact when they talk to you? Even when they're the one driving the car? I got behind a guy on Gardiner's the other day who was in a big conversation with his passenger. He spent more time looking and gesturing at the poor sap sitting next to him than he did looking out the big wide window in front of him (the one that shows the road ahead). His speed would go from 40k to 65k to 35k to 80 as he worked his way through the wonderfully entertaining story he must have been telling. Moron! Imagine if this knob had nobody next to him? He'd have to pull out his mobile phone and get into it with any fool who'd answer his call.

Yesterday, I almost got clipped by a lovely young woman in a blue Honda Civic. Either her eyes need a check up, or (more probably) she should maybe not be trying to dial a number, send a text or update her Facebook while driving...especially when she's in the middle of a turn through one of the busiest intersections in Kingston!

So if you get my "I can't get to the phone right now..." message from now on, it's all good. Leave me a detailed message, and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.

Once it's in park, and the engine's off.

Just really glad to be here

Things change.

Okay. For anyone who hasn't been paying attention: last August I agreed to do a few months
on the Breakfast Club on 98 3 Fly FM for an ailing Brian Scott. The timeline was to be about 13 weeks or so. Since I was working for myself doing media stuff and freelance voice over, it seemed easy enough to add "Morning Show Host" to that mix for three months. What could possibly go wrong? I'd already vowed that I was finished with the radio business, and was actively pursuing all kinds of other career opportunities (at least that was the way it was worded on the note that went up at Corus the day they fired me).

Man, was I deluded!

I did a two hour "practice" show one night in early August just to see if I could still make it all work. That wasn't as bad as it could have been...but then again, it wasn't all that great either.

Then I went "live" doing what I used to do best - mornings! It did take me awhile to get the bug...almost four seconds. The first time I had the mic on, it all came back. That incredible rush that can't be described to anyone who's never done this job. It's kind of like your first kiss, Christmas, scoring your first goal, winning money, and standing on stage with everyone staring at you...all wrapped together...every time you flick on the microphone.

My teachers used to hammer it into my head, and my bosses did the same for years later - "never open a microphone without knowing exactly what you're going to say." Right. Never really got that notion. Thanks for the advice anyway. To this day that microphone switch fires off something deep inside my being that allows me to come forth with all manner of concepts, ideas and musings that heretofore were hidden inside my brain.

Now 13 months have past. Now my body is accustomed to waking up at 3am (!) zipping through the dark, silent house to prepare for the day. A quick goodbye to my barely-awake wife, and it's time to get on my bike and take the long way to work. I cram as much as I can into that brief hour before air time, then suddenly the whole show is screaming along like a finely tuned NASCAR machine.

Then it's nine o'clock, I'm off the air. I'd do a bunch of other stuff then hop back on the bike and usually be home by lunchtime. Even though I've got plenty to occupy my time after my show, I'd still slip in an hour of downtime. Ah that nap. An hour of heaven, with no alarm to end it.

I'll miss all that.

You see now Brian is back. His health has improved. He's ready to start up where he left off on the Breakfast Club.

Luckily, I'm working for some really great people. Instead of smiling politely as I walk to my car carrying a big brown box full of items from my desk...they figured a way to fooling the corporate types into keeping my on. My new show is 9am to noon. Now I get to 1) sleep in to 6:30!! 2) ride in rush hour 3) work with actual people in the building and 4) annoy everyone with my bike parked in the hallway, my smelly sweaty bike clothing strewn about and my incessant eating. I love it!

Heck, I might even get used to it. Except this is radio...and things change.

Natalie, my hero

Just over two weeks ago Natalie Lambert, a local swimmer who'd just turned 14 (as in one day earlier) attempted to swim Lake Ontario from Niagara-On-The-Lake to Toronto. It's a gruelling, crazy swim that started rough and got worse. Natalie battled 12 foot waves for over two hours late in her swim that, sadly, forced her to abandon just 9 short kilometres from shore. At the time she said that she'd do it again, and most of us all thought that meant "some time" in the future, she may make another try.

Natalie isn't like anyone else I know. She decided to make attempt number two just over two weeks later! Two weeks! Hardly enough time to get rested enough to go back to work, let alone to train for, plan, and execute another 50+ km swim across a very unforgiving lake.

This time the swim was moved to our end of the lake, where the water temperature was a bit warmer, and where Natalie could finish in her home town.

This time was going to be different.

As we did last time, Mike Reid from BOB FM and I were part of the team...well maybe Mike more than myself. Mike would again be on the boat with Natalie's crew for the entire swim, calling back reports and relaying messages back to the crew and to Natalie. I (just like before) would have a much more comfortable role - sitting here in my cushy studio doing my show for the entire 24ish hours! Fun!

Morning radio is kind of hard to describe to people. Those of us who've been granted the privilege to get on the air and entertain every day, live for events like this. It's our chance to show the audience that there are amazing and important people like Natalie doing amazing and important things that will make all our lives better.

So Natalie got in Lake Ontario in Sackett's Harbor NY at 10:07 am Monday August 27th, and started swimming that strong, fluid stroke of hers. Right from the start, we knew we were in for something special. She was already the youngest female to attempt a marathon swim across Lake Ontario...but this was less about records. This swim HAD to happen. Every hour we heard from Mike on the deck of one of the support boats. He even took his turn in one of the kayaks, which is funny when you think of how inept he claims to be at piloting one of the sketchy little boats. His reports were funny, heartfelt and insightful. He never missed a beat, and never lost his enthusiasm or his sense that this was about only one thing...Natalie. I got so worked up just relaying the reports and talking with Mike that I talked our station into going "live" from Confederation Park (where Natalie would finish the swim) at quarter to four in the morning!

This came after a small crazy spell where my son and I went on the air together playing some indie Canadian music that my daughter had burned to cd and cracking Mike up on the air with John Hogeman's "700 Hobo Names." It was strange, but fun.

The last hours of the swim were intense. Natalie started feeling low in the dark and cold, and had to pull it together by using everything and everyone she had. Her coach Vicki Keith (who holds more marathon swim records than anyone ever will) drew Natalie's attention to the lunar eclipse that was going on above her in a beautiful, clear, cold sky. The crew sang to her. Even her sister Jenna who'd swam across the lake a year earlier setting records as the first physically challenged person to make it across, jumped in and swam near her sister. They even started racing through some different strokes.

It all worked. The last hour was probably the most intense radio I'd ever been a part of. Natalie's speed picked up and the park started to fill up with Kingston people intent on seeing what we get to experience more than anyone else in this country - history being made. There were people dressed in business attire, work clothes, even high heels, running full-sprint across the park to be there for the landing. It was beautiful to watch.

The last minutes went by so fast, I can barely remember them. Natalie came in fast and strong, and even launched into the butterfly stroke for her last ten metres! When she touched, the ocean of orange-clad well wishers erupted into screams and applause and a celebration that seemed like it was never going to end.

She did it.

We were there for it.

I love this job!

Like the drive-in with out the driving

This is like living in Stars Hollow Connecticut.

Pardon the Gilmore Girls reference, but last night it was all I could think about. My family was sitting on our Kingston Concert Seating (those portable fold able lawn chairs) on Market Square with about 500 other people watching Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid on the big screen.

The night was awesome. Hardly any breeze. Hot, but not horribly so. Great company. Great movie. Great scenery. The pub was just seconds away so we had something cool just before showtime. Oh yeah, and I dropped a few bucks at White Mountain too.

My radio station, Fly FM and Downtown Kingston were the ones who put this all together, and I'm totally impressed. The mix of people, young, old, in between, locals, tourists, even the folks who like to remind us how they "hate coming downtown for anything", were all there.

Even the lost, friendless, perhaps jobless folks who spend most of the night driving around in circles in their loud two and four wheeled vehicles added to the ambiance.

(Just a couple of quick notes here: 1) a sexed-up Neon complete with dubs, light sticks and a throaty roar is still a...stinkin' Neon and 2) the wing on the back of your front-wheel drive car only proves that your physics teacher was right in failing you)

Could you do anything like this anywhere else in the world? Maybe. But nowhere else can do it as well as we do in Kingston.

What's Wrong With Kids These Days?

One of the great things about being a parent, is getting a phone call in the middle of the afternoon and your son is on the other end saying "you'll never guess where I'm calling from!"

He's fourteen now, so he's right, it's difficult to guess these things. I'm afraid to even try.

I have good reason too. When I was fourteen, I really never checked in with my parents. We lived in a pretty easy-going part of the bush in Northern Ontario, where the kids were all pretty independent. I spent most of the summer months out on my bike, or hiking the trails behind our house, or hanging around the beaver dam near our place, or flying down Barsky's Hill on a home-built go-kart. The winter months were spent outside building snow forts, skating on the beaver pond, throwing snowballs or just plotting another snow attack on a different part of town.

My parents were always glad to see me at the supper table, and rarely interested in what took place from the time they saw me go out the door in the morning, until I came back just in time to eat.

It's something that seems to out of step with the way things are now. We spend so much time and energy in an effort trying to control our children's environments. Perhaps we're making up for a perceived slackness in our own upbringing, or maybe we've become paranoid of the world thanks to how it's presented to us on the media ever day.

Let the kids out of your sight for one second, and they'll be doing something dangerous, going to some awful part of town, blowing their money on scary addictions, or hanging around psychotic freaks! It must be true because Brian Williams, Peter Mansbridge and the entire CNN crew tell me it's so.

So with great trepidation I answer "uhh, I can't guess...where are you?" And my son proudly announces that he and his buds are on Wolfe Island. Wolfe Island? A place where most people take their families and grandparents to see the pastoral beauty of a farming community that's only accessible by a ferry. A place where the craziest thing you can do on a hot summers day is buy a decadent butter tart at the Wolfe Island Bakery.

This is the same kid who asked me a few days prior to this adventure "hey, guess what I just bought!" To which I had to answer "uhh, I can't guess...whadja get?" "A violin!" He had a hundred bucks just burning a hole in his pockets, so he bought a...a...VIOLIN?!??!!?

If we start giving this kid too much freedom, he may end up sneaking away to the library!

You see, it's not our children who we're tyring to protect. At least not entirely. We're doing everything we can to keep them from doing the bad stuff we did.

No wonder they're confident that they'll do a better job when it's their turn to take over the world.

Just Glad To Be Here

It came to me when I was at the fort for the 1812 Overture the other night...this stuff only happens in Kingston.

Every year the Kingston Symphony Orchestra performs a two-night show at Unesco World Historic site Fort Henry. The fact that we have a symphony orchestra is significant enough, but that we have one of the finest in Canada, makes it even better.

Anyway, the symphony always invites a special guest artist to perform with them on these nights. This time it was Kingston blues-legend Georgette Fry and her band. Awesome show! They played some classics (including "Mars: bringer of War" by Holzt, which was a personal favourite of Captain Matthew Dawe of Kingston. He had been killed just a few weeks ago while serving in Afghanistan), some blues, and of course the big finale: Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture, complete with live cannon and muskets supplied by the Fort Henry Guard.

1500 people were at the fort that night for this amazing show. They weren't all classical music, or blues music, or jazz music, or any-particular-type-of-music fans. Just people who love to see a great show.

That's when I started thinking about it. We drive, ride and walk past some of the most beautiful and historic architecture in the country. Have you ever driven up Fort Henry Hill some night, just to look out over Kingston? You'd cancel your satellite service and never watch TV again if you did. It's just awesome.

We can literally go to the bar that Sir John A. MacDonald frequented.

Our City Hall was built a half-century before surveyors even laid out plans to build Edmonton!

Living in Kingston is a privilege that all of us take for granted. The parking rates we whine about are among the lowest in the country. The "horrible condition of our roads" would look like new pavement in most places.

And most of us miss it. Speeding to work. Speeding home. Rushing the kids through supper so you can get them to soccer on time. Stopping for a quick (and not inexpensive) bite at some national chain restaurant afterward, then speeding back home.

Whenever you hear yourself complaining about there being nothing do do or see here. Stop. Take a second to think about the horrible alternative: Living anywhere else!

Proof that Darwin may have been wrong

Not very much makes me mad.

In fact, it's hard to think of anything that gets more out of me than a "what's with that."

But three seemingly unrelated incidents from the past two days are really getting to me.

In Toronto, a young boy at a birthday party was shot and killed by a "stray" bullet. It seems someone had a beef with someone else, so they fired wildly in an attempt to make things right. And a boy died.

Yesterday a man was attacked by a pit bull. The dog was loose, and for reasons we'll never know, bit the man rather severely on the leg. The pit bull is going to be put down.

Sunday, my wife was driving to work on the 401. She was passing another car when a vehicle came out of nowhere...almost rear ended the car she was passing, then somehow drove through the very small gap between the two of them to get in front of my wife. She said that she had to close her eyes for a moment, and was certain that she was about to die.

The gang guy who shot off his gun is a moron.

The pit bull's owners, who probably encouraged every aggressive tendency in the poor animal, then allowed it to run free (and frightened), are morons.

The guy driving the speeding car, oblivious to the carnage, and heartbreak he could have caused, is a moron.

Morons kill.

What have I done now?

I was so happy to have friends competing in the Ironman USA this past weekend, that I may have lost my mind!

You see, to get into this day-long torturefest, one has to either qualify with an incredible time in some lead-up competition (not bloody likely for me), or just be really really lucky and sign up online the day after the competition before all the slots are gone.

Or, you could have friends going to the race who threaten to do it for you.

I'll find out tomorrow if one of them signed me up for Ironman 2008.

Not sure if I'm supposed to hope it's "yes" or "no."

4km swim...180km bike ride...42.2km marathon...all in the same day!

Maybe they were just kidding!

Older, but no wiser!

A bunch of people I know are racing in Ironman USA this Sunday in Lake Placid. These are dedicated (some would say obsessed) individuals who've put in at least a year of training so that they can have the privilege of swimming 3.8km, riding their bikes 180km and running a marathon...all in the same day!

Yikes!

The folks who do this kind of stuff are pretty special. A lot of them are life-long athletes who regard Ironman as just another extreme challenge to tackle. The majority though, came to this whole notion of fitness later in their lives. Take a look at the results from any Ironman, or even the K-Town Tri...the 40-60 year olds are the ones who drive this thing.

New stats out show that our population is not only ageing, it's doing it in ways your grandparents never imagined. People are getting fitter as they age, and they're taking up sports that used to be for young people.

I've had the humbling experience of having a 76-year-old man blast by me on the bike in a triathlon. Couldn't even catch him on the run! I hope I get to be him some day...I really do.

The world has done a weird flip in the past decade. Young people are becoming more and more sedentary, and are getting "old people" diseases like arthritis and type two diabetes at an alarming rate. Meanwhile, the codgers are running, swimming, biking, hiking, rock climbing and doing all kinds of other crazy endurance sports at an equally alarming rate.

There was a time in my life when I used to sit on the sidelines and watch in wonder as athletes took things to yet another level. I can still remember thinking "what a bunch of wackos" while watching the first K-Town tri.

Now?

Guess I'm just following a trend...as of this weekend, I'll be signed up for IM USA 2008. I'm not getting older...just trying to keep up!

Depends on how you want to be soaked!

Holy crap it's raining here in Kingston today! We don't usually get crazy weather of any kind here, so what we refer to as "a lot of rain" is probably pretty pathetic to some people.

But holy crap!

It wouldn't matter as much if I still drove my car everywhere. You see about eight years ago I decided to do something about the "high" gas prices (at the time about 55 cents per litre) and started to ride my bike to work and back at least three or four times a week.

I'm putting about 5000 kms. a year on my bike(s) now. I stay in pretty good physical condition, and my kids even have a healthier attitude about using "people power" to get to where they need to go.

Back when I started my two-wheeled commute, I was full of reasons why I couldn't do it. The distance! The traffic! No bike lanes! No cool cycling gear! Blah blah blah. First morning I rode in, I was hooked!

Sure you have to buy some cool cycling clothes to feel like you're part of the bike crowd (though the mullet-guys with the backwards ball caps-and-cigarette look have a special panache), and I go through a set of tires every year or so. Yes the traffic is pretty nuts. Oh, and the guy who knocked me off the road a while back lifted my family's anxiety level a bit.

The payoff though has been exactly what I'd hoped for. For the five to ten minutes of extra time it takes me to ride in, I save about 500 bucks a year in gas another couple hundred in parking and a few hundred in car maintenance. Every time I see the gas go over a buck a litre, I get this special, warm screw-the-oil companies feeling.

December gets a bit rough. January and February are killers to ride in, and this time around I'll probably have to take the bus. But stopping by Elevator Bay on the way in to spend a few minutes watching the ducks and geese...or riding the long way through Lemoine Point coming home...and passing 50 cars stuck in traffic at 4:10pm...those are things I'd never get to do with my stupid old car.

Today though. Holy crap it's raining today! It was a dry ride in. And as for going home? I'm gonna get soaked! But tonight, I'll sleep like a baby...wonder if the people who set the prices we pay at the pump will do the same?

The Loud People's Pool

My backyard neighbour got a pool! I'm jealous. In ground with a massive deck and a hot tub. All that fun to be had...less grass to cut. Totally jealous.

His family gets a lot of good use out of it all too. And that's where there's a problem.

Our little corner of the city is awesome. Lots of kids, teenagers, young couples, old couples...a really good mix of people. Sometimes the kids may get a bit careless on their bikes, some times the oldsters may drive a bit too fast. But for the most part, it works.

Until someone gets a backyard pool!

It's not the splashing. It's not the happy laughter. It's not even the fact that the most noise happens when I'm trying to sleep (my hours are weird to most people, and therefore I'm the one who needs to deal with it, not them).

No, it's the child who screams as though she's about to be murdered, all day! This is not an infant, nor is it a toddler. Just someone who's main form of communicating her joy at having full access to her own backyard pool, is to scream like she's just seen the trailer for The Hills Have Eyes II.

The scream penetrates walls. The TV and stereo won't drown it out. Instead of my hour-and-a-half of shut-eye every afternoon, it's now a crazy mishmash of nappus interuptus, punctuated by dreams that only Wes Craven could have come up with.

In days gone by, I'd carefully plot my revenge. Not some well thought-out scheme, where my point is put across with such perfect clarity that the situation is fixed, and we all learn a valuable life lesson too. No, something meaningless and childish.

But the urge isn't in me now. It's almost as if I'm willing to let them have their fun, no matter how obnoxious it can get.

Guess I'm gettin' old.

I've lost my jock!

The Jock's coming down!

So that's it...no more Jock Harty Arena. No more Styx, Crowded House, Elvis Costello. No more sweating it out though an exam. No more running on the track while watching the pick up hockey or figure skaters practice their moves. No more climbing up over the fences late at night to get onto the old tennis courts (not that anyone would do such a thing).

Things change, and in our city, we need to welcome ANY new ideas that actually make it past the talking stage. But the Jock just never seemed like it was one of those obsolete relics that needed replacing.

Well, it'll be gone soon. The wrecking has begun. In a few years the new Queen's Centre will stand where the old rink, pool and gym are now. Pretty exciting.

And yet.

A bit of a bummer for anyone who never climbed up over the fence late at night to get on the old tennis courts.

Don't drive Stupid!

A very good friend of mine did something she hopes she'll never have to do again.

This weekend she found herself behind a driver who was having a very tough time keeping their vehicle on the road. It became apparent that this was someone in need of an intervention, so my friend called 911 and reported what she saw.

Not sure what transpired after that, but person on the other end assured her that they would take action.

Now this morning I know why they conveyed that message over the phone. Kingston Police charged five people for drinking and driving offences in this city in less than twelve hours this past weekend. Scary enough that people still let themselves go to a point where they get behind the wheel like that, but that so many are still doing it after all that's been done to stop this moronic behaviour...it's just really really sad.

No need asking why somebody would be so mindless as to try to drive after they've been drinking. We have to stop making excuses for them. Stop listening to their excuses. Just plain stop them.

My friend definitely did the right thing. And you should do the same if you ever get the chance.

The Blog Entry About Bicycle Lanes

An interesting thing happened this morning. A representative of "Bicycle Kingston" was heard on FLY FM (and I presume other, lesser media outlets) explaining his group's stand on the city's plan to create more bike lanes here.

He's against it. In fact he and his group say the idea of building bike lanes is actually more dangerous than what we have now. They say the city could instead build wider curb lanes, that could be used by both cars and bikes. He says this would save us money to use on law enforcement and improving the general state of our roads. His main rationale is that bicycles are vehicles, which are entitled to the roadway as much as a motorized vehicle is...and that if both were to share the new wider roadway by following the basic rules of the road...all will be well. This is not some guy who comes by these theories easily either. He's had lots of experience in other cities (like Toronto), and he's passionate that he knows the right way to go on this.

March 25th, 2001. I was riding my beautiful white Cannondale road bike along Front Road here in Kingston. This is a stretch of street that has a well-marked bike lane most of the way. There is one small bridge over the Cataraqui Creek that has no bike lane marked on it though. That is where I was knocked off the road by a vehicle, driven by someone who perhaps could have been following the "basic rules of the road"...but wasn't. Smashed up my bike. Got a massive concussion, and missed a couple days of work.

Would a white line painted on the side of the road have saved me from all this? I can't answer that. The driver may have caught that in his peripheral vision (so hard to see though when you're busy trying to dial an important number on your cell), but then he probably should have seen the bright white Cannondale, complete with colourfully-dressed rider with a huge yellow and reflective silver back pack!!!

My point though is that the more we do to make it clear to drivers that a bicycle (or skateboard, or child) COULD be up ahead...the safer for everyone. What better way than to paint a brilliant white line along the side of the road? Sure there are morons who don't even see huge CARS in front of them when they drive. There is no hope for these people, other than that they'll die in firey crashes some day and make the roads safer for the rest of us.

Okay, that's a bit harsh, but maybe I'm feeling just a bit sensitive after having a group speak out for me and the rest of the people of Kingston who love to bike. Most of us are very very happy with our crappy little white lines and want nothing more than for the city of Kingston to paint them on every street. Driver education, law enforcement and road repairs...yeah, we need those too.

But I'll bet my life on that solid white line.

The Blog Entry About the Black Truck

I hate the black truck. It's not a good quality, hating something that really could never hate me back. So big deal. Nobody's perfect.

Here I am doing my bit for the planet, our family's budget and my general fitness, by riding my beat up old Minnelli mountain bike 7.4 kms to work every day. Some times it feels great, like when it's 30 celcius at 4:30am, and the road is all mine. There are rides that aren't as much fun though. Those are the ones where it's really freakin' cold, and/or windy, and/or raining and I'm late, and I'm so so tired because it's 4:30am and I don't really care how much of the road I can have, how small my carbon footprint is or how badly my kids would like to have a college eduction...I just want to drive the 7.4 kms in the luxury of an automobile complete with the soothing sounds of FLY FM, dry-non spandex-clothing, and enough metal to protect my general health from the black friggin' truck!

My bike has every safety feature demanded by the traffic act. I don't run red lights or stop signs. I stay as far to the right of the road as possible (except when avoiding the many counter-sunk sewer grates in Kingston. Not sure why these have to be six inches below street level, but it could have something to do with a concession to the auto mechanics who can only make their margins by replacing shocks and struts). I signal. What a complete nerd! I signal when I turn, when I stop, and even when I wish to communicate my observations about someone's driving.

I get so wound up about people who drive on the road like they have been given a permanent right-of-way pass.

The black truck. It goes really really fast. The turn signals apparently are broken. The brakes fail at all intersections. However I will admit that it does slow down a bit for red lights, almost to the point where there were several inches between me and it this morning when I was cut off riding through my green light at Bath and Days Road.

But this is not why I hate the black truck.

I hate the black truck because of the driver. He/she may totally disregard the traffic laws, care little for the future of our world, and probably feels no need to share the road with some skinny, sweaty man on a bike. But he/she gets to do it all in such luxury. Dry clothes. The soothing sounds of FLY FM.

My god, I think I'm getting Truck-Envy!

Keep it movin'