R A N T W I C K
quilt image from here
PS - There is a slim chance that I am not responsible for the redesign and renaming of that flashlight, but really, what are the odds? Tiny. It had to be me. Right? Right.
quilt image from here
PS - There is a slim chance that I am not responsible for the redesign and renaming of that flashlight, but really, what are the odds? Tiny. It had to be me. Right? Right.
Are they the new house butterfly? If so, that's too bad, because I like house butterflies. Mrs. Rantwick thinks my tastes in this regard are somewhat misguided. Ah well. They bring me peace.
Anyway, where was I? I got all blissed out there for a second. Ah yes... outdoor decorations. Well, there are house butterflies (sigh) and all these other things, but what I'm talking about here is something beyond all of that. I'm talking about a front lawn vision. I'm talking about Mother Nature herself. The proud owners of Mother Nature have, naturally, surrounded her with sweet little creatures...
She is deserving of her many followers. Here she is in context:
And here she is on her own (excluding her escort bunny, a turtle, a panting little dog and a tiny toe-sniffing donkey):
I love her. I love knowing that her owners obviously cherish her. I love that people can express themselves any way they want, on their front lawns or otherwise. I'm glad I don't live straight across from her, because, frankly, I would find myself in a constant state of arousal unbecoming a devout worshiper of Mrs. Rantwick. I think I had better stop there.
As I headed north out of my neighbourhood, I thought I would stop and take a peek at some path/bridge construction that is affecting lots of path riders near downtown:
As you can see I was treated to a pretty cool looking view of some interesting construction in full swing. I could watch this kind of thing all day, and if it weren't for the fact that pudgy middle-aged men wearing spandex aren't among preferred gawkers, I might have. The bridge being worked on is the one featured in this post, which is a big favourite of mine. No stick music until it is back, I guess. As I checked out the scene, I saw the graffiti (highlighted by WAH? above) that would turn my bike ride into a philosophical journey:
Most "Try" statements you read finish with "our new ____" or "Me!" But this "Try" message was so much deeper... Try Nihilism! Wow. I found the fact that the message prompting me to try it was painted on a girder that even under-bridge dwelling weirdos would have trouble finding or seeing if it weren't for the construction very interesting. The fact that I had stumbled upon this message despite its bizarre location made me want to honour it, follow it. I resolved to be a Nihilist until I decided not to be one any more.
What is Nihilism? Although I have a pretty good idea, I'm smart enough not to answer that question without some consultation to protect me from looking like a total moron if I'm wrong... Let's ask Wikipedia!
Nihilism (from the Latin nihil, nothing) is the philosophical doctrine suggesting the negation of one or more meaningful aspects of life. Most commonly, nihilism is presented in the form of existential nihilism which argues that life is without objective meaning, purpose, or intrinsic value. Moral nihilists assert that morality does not inherently exist, and that any established moral values are abstractly contrived.
Now, I ain't no big thinky-man, but it seems to me that a Nihilist thinks that nothing really matters, including being good or nice. That sounds pretty liberating, don't you think? Always open to new ideas and ready to follow the spray painted advice of strangers, I rode on with a new way of perceiving things, starting with stuff that gets in my way; when being good or nice doesn't matter...
Nihilism was proving not only liberating, but fascinating! Geese respond to it. Old Ladies ignore it. Woah. What could that mean? Well, let's think now... Old Ladies go to Church. Geese do not. Was it a God thing? Nietzsche, a big name in the Nihilism game, was famous for the phrase "God is Dead" and St. Peter's Seminary was on my route...
As noted previously, I was away for the last several days. I went home to Thunder Bay to hang out with my Mother. The RANTWICK mothership is doing well, thank you, and we had a good time. I mostly drank beer and watched hockey in the evenings. Mom watched with me but skipped the beer part. In the daytime, we did various kinds of errand-y stuff and on one fine Sunday afternoon we went out to our cottage, walked on a big beach (because the water was low), tossed a stick for a dog and sat in the sun. One rantsister and one rantbrother joined us and it was really nice.
You know what else was nice? Flying. I get a little uptight when I travel, but I always love to fly in airplanes of just about any description. I am blessed, because I only fly every couple of years or so, so it stays kind of ever-new. I love take-off and I love landing. My landing in Thunder Bay was in super strong wind, and the small 80-ish passenger plane was getting kicked around quite a lot. People clapped when we were firmly on the ground. It was scary and fun. Our pilot earned his money that day for sure. My brother-in-law is a pilot, and I stole that "earned his money" thing from my younger sister, his wife, who commented on the wind when she picked me up at the airport. There's one other thing about flying that I really like. I get an inexplicable sense of happiness and/or satisfaction when I spot a golf course or a baseball diamond from the air. I don't why... that's why I used the word inexplicable a moment ago, I think.
Despite the fact that I just relayed such ultra-exciting details about what I've been up to lately, that wasn't the reason for writing this post. While Mom and I were buzzing around town, we swung by the house I grew up in. I noticed that subsequent owners had replaced a normal sized window on the back of the house with a nice new big one:
No stinkin' wonder. Look at what you can see from that window:
That's all I suppose. I guess I just wanted to mention that fit of nostalgia before it too became a fading memory. It is very likely that something bike-related will turn up here soon, I think.
I fall in love with the big heavy studded tire monstrosity known as "Mutant Winter" in the Fall. I mean, I can ride over or through just about anything on it. And it has gears, 8 of 'em! It has the 2nd sexiest plastic tub in the city. It has pink brake cables. It is caked in road sludge and has rusty fender stays. It is slow-ish. It is perfect.
I also fall in love with a fixed gear commuter known simply as "Summer" each Spring. It is light and practical and fast-ish. It sports panniers of deep philosophical meaning that came from across the sea. It is my best build so far. It needs new bar tape and brake pads. It is perfect.
Once I have switched bikes with the seasons, I don't like going back. I like settling into the clothing and daily packing and riding patterns associated with each commuter bike and staying there. I also like to equip the bike with appropriate tubes and tools and just leave them on board rather than transferring stuff from one bike to another. I've been holding off on switching to "Summer" because there's a chance snow will fly again, but I can't take riding "Mutant Winter" in such fine weather any longer. Plus, MW's bottom bracket has passed well beyond creaking; it sounds like there are broken marbles in it. The whole bike needs a complete tear-down. Thus I have resolved to ride Summer through anything nasty that comes up between now and hot weather.
Anyway, I love them both, but at different times. If they were women, it would be like having two wives I totally adored and lived with exclusively depending on the season; a more solidly built one for winter and a lighter, more athletic one for summer. Both would be practical life-partner types who selflessly support me in getting through my day-to-day existence.
The thing is, I want more. Don't get me wrong, riding for practical reasons through the work week brings me joy every time I do it, but I'm ready for some weekend fun. As some of you may know, I've got a Trek 520 frame I've been meaning to do something with. Unfortunately, there has been little cash and even less time available to apply to my project, and I have not progressed beyond having a frame and wheels. Just the same, my heart (if not my shed) definitely has room for a third bike. This time, the kind of woman she would be changes entirely, since the bike isn't about day-to-day practicality, but rather about a partner for weekend adventures:
Original artwork: Emily Balivet - The Muse of Music
Now you can correct me of course, but I'm guessing that "Mutant Winter" and "Summer" might have a problem with my built-for-weekend-fun-bike-woman friend that I will name "Highway":
Yep, it sure would be awful, if it weren't for this staggeringly wonderful fact: They are all bikes. They don't care. In fact, they are not capable of caring, because they are just things. Holy man, do I love bikes. I love them most for what they are, but it would seem that I also love them for what they are not.
I have referred to my customizer a few times on this blog. The first time was when he brought his formidable skills to bear in updating my sunglasses until they were truly cutting edge technology. The second time the customizer worked on my glasses, however, his genius was beyond my grasp and the work he did finished my glasses off entirely, which contributed to me looking silly in public. Believe me, I need no assistance with that kind of thing. It was at that point that I determined, with a heavy heart, that he had gone somewhat mad and I could no longer allow him to work on any of my gear. Months passed in relative peace as the customizer grew more mature. His experiments on household objects came to a near stop.
Recently, however, the tables were turned. My friend had become unkempt and out of control in the grooming department. Drastic action was required and I ended up customizing him. The results were dramatic and his revenge was swift. But enough words. To the Pictures!
That bag of garbage started out on this side of that gate. After some angry yelling, a little deep breathing and a slow count to ten, I cleaned up the mess while the customizer spent a little time outside. Even when he displays his mad proclivities, it is difficult to stay angry with this guy for long. Which is why there is already a sequel to "Customizer III - Revenge of the Customizer"...
Thanks for swinging by. Yer Pal,