Today markes 1 year of pain free living since I puked my guts out on the 5 freeway on June 30th, 2004.(See the Blog entry of last year for clarification)

I don't usuallly like talking about health issues on the blog, but I am all about landmarks, and this one is important. 365 days relatively pain free, that's a good thing, and I have to mention it, forgive me.

. . . And for you hardliners- lighten up, it's not as is I'm going on about a scist I found on my back, like this guy . . .

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In Buffalo recently I overheard a family in line at the Southwest Airlines counter tell horror stories of their recent travels home from the Canadian side of the U.S. border at Niagara Falls. They all spoke of rude and threatening behavior of border patrol officers running the gates between the U.S. and Canada. The Mother of the group feared for her teen aged boys safety when one fully armed border guard confronted her son by yelling in his face for standing on the wrong side of a white line.

If this isn't a huge issue somewhere in (or on the outskirts of) America, it should be or will be soon.

I got the following story from a friend who recently travelled to Canada, and was detained at the border by American soldiers mascarading as customs officials, or was it the other way around? He had recently been in Vancouver on business, and was detained because he had a trunk full of samples from a showcase. As he waited patiently in the security building, he observed this remarkable incident:

The entire holding room was covered with signs telling those detained that there was absolutely, positively No bathroom services provided to anyone at any time, so DON'T ASK! This in itself is a little disturbing being that a person can be detained at the American border for hours, and yet no services or the hint of alternatives are provided.
I understand that bathrooms, or any place of absolute privacy, are havens for just about every kind of undesirable activity from drug use to drinking to sex- the list goes on. However, the need to urinate or defecate is a basic, bodily function. As humans in the United States it's curious how the basic right to go when you have to go is completely absent. I was surprised as anyone when I learned of this heinous power play by those in charge to degrade and dehumanize those in their custody, it's an obvious and unnecessary power play, and it's appalling- to say the least.

While my friend was waiting for the officers to finish searching his car, a tall unassuming woman came into the holding room, and walked directly up to the desk where the border patrol did it's business and asked, quite politely, if she could use the bathroom. The officer behind the desk became instantly outraged, and pointed the obvious signs plastered around the room. "No Bathroom Services Provided !".

Before the officer could get another indignant word out, the woman promptly puked all over the desk and the officer. The officials quickly made an exception to their rule, but alas it was too late.

The obvious response to this? Serves them right.

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I met Micah McCain a year or so ago when I was shooting video for a Queer Across America pilot. His Character Bridget was recommended to me by a local "In The Know" kind gay. He gave me Michas number, so I called.
To make a long story short, the most time I've spent with Micah in face-to-face would add up to less time than it takes for a Pop-tart to burn, but I have grown so damn fond of this one! I have . . No . . really!

Bang joined me for an entertaining evening at Casita Del Campo's "Cavern Club Theatre" to see Micah's One Person Show "Unshaven".

We were thoroughly entertained listening to music, watching people running around. The lights, the colors, funnny and wild and that was just in the parking lot waiting for the Valet!

The schtick behind Micah's show "Unshaven" was watcing Micah perform without his Drag-net, Bridgette of Madison County. Honestly, I didn't miss her.

After what seemed like hours of campy show tunes playing in a dimly lit basement theatre, the lights come up and out on stage flies this flamboyant gay man with freckles and eyes so blue you think he was keeping the sky in them until sunrise.

All eyebrows arched as people looked around for the stash of wigs, the Harvey Fierstein makeup table, the eyeliner. "Truly this boy isn't going to try to entertain us without props?" He will, better hold on to something.

Micah is a young man, but don't let his age fool you, he's a veteran when it comes to performing in front of live audiences. His talent is his voice, his weapon is his sense of humor as he twists his favorite karaoke tunes to fit cleverly and neatly into his baudacious act. We went through several witty years of his life with him, with a number of great memorable songs rewritten perfectly and cleverly to illustrate his somewhat twisted points of view. (i.e. Pat Benatar did not sing "Get a bettter head shot"!) We were smitten with it all, and the faces in the audience did not stop smiling even after the lights went out.

Live performances rarely go perfectly all the way through, and this show had it's share of bloopers. Even when tripping up McCain keeps it together never missing a beat and often using whatever spillled across the stage as just another thing to point out the tragic farce that is his life so far. Some of the spontaneous bits were so perfect, so expertly defused you seriously doubt that they were actually blundered. Really, can a night out be that perfect? It was on Friday- No one was disappointed, not even McCaine with his (inevitable) standing ovation.(Well deserved I might add- God- can I gush any more?!)

This show had a short run, so I won't give you show times- those times have passed, but if you ever get a chance to see Micah McCane perform, as himself or as Bridgette of Madison County, take it. You wont be disappointed.

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After rummaging through my Garage for the better part of an hour(30 minutes procrastinating- 30 minutes actually looking) I came to the conclusion that my compound mitre saw has been lifted, taken, fingered, obsconced, or stolen.
. . .or I left it in San Diego on a recent trip I took to practice my moulding-cutting skills at someone elses house. Regardless, I bought a new one(much shinier and colorful than the old blue one) and I started the job of installing new moulding trim in the bathroom areas.

Now the bathroom is looking a LOT more like a bathroom, and a lot less like a shanky construction site- all from the addition of a window sill- who knew?

The Bathroom before moulding and trim	With mouldings and a sill- YAY!

I got call while on day 4 of the lifecycle ride from my buddy Jim Cook, asking how I was riding on that great Calfee Luna. I told him about my timing, my hill-abilities, my early arrivals and late departures. No flats and no pain so far. "Great" he said , "You're in perfect shape for a double century then". I wondered if he heard me gulp. Seems our buddy Alan is going for his third double century to aquire his CaliforniaTriple Crown Jersey, and he's currently scheduled to go alone the following Saturday.

"Sure Jim" I said, like the cocky asshole I am "Sounds like it'd be a lot of fun!! What I really should have said was "When I get back to L.A. I will not even be looking at this bike for the remainder of the summer! You're Nuts! I'm am NOT doing no Double centuries Mister- Forget it!" Alas, Jim and Alan's competitive nature is contagious, and my ego somehow wanted to appear as if I was ready, but not too eager, to pull off 200 miles in one day.

When I talked to Alan about it, he didn't help matters much by saying "Well, Thomas, since you've put 600 miles on this week, you're probably in almost as good a shape as I am." This coming from my friend who at 6'4" just topped out at 260. I would hope I was in better shape than Alan sitting on the couch with a gallon of Ben&Jerry's on my chest.

So like an idiot, driven by the desire to shock the shit out of everyone with my fantastic riding skills I signed up for the lowland course of the Grand Tour Double Century 2005 . mostly out off fear that if I didn't, I'd be brow beaten into doing this eventually, and it would be better to do it now, since I was in better shape than usual.

Saturday morning Alan picked my up at 4 a.m., and we headed off to Malibu to the starting point. It was an eventless day, really. Much like the aidsride, only in fast-forward. The rest stops were spaced 60 miles apart instead of 25 miles apart, and I virtually did not see the difference. The final leg of the ride was through Malibu, which I had completed only one week ago with the lifecycle ride, so needless to say, I was familiar with the course.

Total ride time, 11 hours and 1 minute. Total time on the course, 14 hours with lunches and breaks and all. Not bad for a first timer, and I might add, a last timer.

My ass was so sore(and still is) that this doesn't seem worth giving up a Saturday with Bang to do it.

Alan got his triple crown Jersey, I completed the course in a good time frame. Good enough- Job done.- NEXT!

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I know it seems I've been asleep at the wheel lately, but only in the interest off the blog, so without further delay- here's the latest update.


Been visiting the blog space of my dear friend Camber Hill lately and truly enjoying his informative and energetic posts. He's been passing himself around as a life coach for quite a while now, and whenever I personally hit a snag I can't seem to untangle in my life, I usually hand it to him with some surprising results. Check out his blog, he may need an editor, but the message is generally there, and once he get's going, watch out.
I have often wondered how the hell I would have gotten through some of the more intense times in my life without his guidance. This weeks dispatch is especially terrifiic- so go, read, enjoy. I encourage you to.

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June 3, 2005

It's a ride, not a race . . .

It's so difficult to remain organized when you have to cram a weeks worth of gear and supplies into one bag. I came to a (stupid) conclusion on Friday when searching for my camera; "If I don't see it out in the open, then I must have packed it, and I'll find it when I unpack"- I know I left L.A. with it, so it must be in my luggage, right? Wrong!

The damn thing was in my truck. Now I have no camera to document my ride and I am irritated all to hell! The photos in this entry are from the lifecycle photographer, not from me.

Here is my ride in a nutshell

Moo, Mooooo, Bahh Bah Bahh

Day 2: Back in the saddle. Met my new tent mate, John.
Whew- what a relief. I was worried that I might end up with a real freak or someone who considered me one. Instead I got a professional adult training ride leader from L.A., who never complained and was as agreeable as a nun. Second day of 100 mile riding- not doing bad so far. Remembering life with the porta-potty, I either forgot about that hell or blocked it out? - Who knows. Side note- I think gatorade constipates me.

Day 3: King City to Paso Robles. Some heavy-hitter hills today. Rode to the top and cheered my fellow riders up. Nice to feel like I'm helping.
Surprises so far: No leg cramps, no neck or back problems, no flats, no saddle soreness. Coming up with clever ways to say On Your Left like "Approaching your starboard side imminently, prepare thyself for passing!" Went over tepidly for the most part. Decided trying to be clever on day three was probably not a good idea. Practicing keeping my mouth shut instead. Fewer eyes rolling- sticking to it to be the better challenge.
Side note- Having trouble moving certain things in the morning. Cutting down on the Gatoraid today- hoping for the best

Day 4:
Paso Robles to Santa Maria. We're coming through Santa Maria on the very day Michael Jackson's trial verdict is due- not today though- jury is still out and we ride right through. Halfway to L.A. has us climbing our biggest hill early in the day. Later in the day we pass by Pismo Beach at Oceano, and come up on a holy hell of a short, steep hill with traffic and no shoulder. When discussing it with other riders, we decided to name it the "Pismo Bitch" because it''s steep, late in the day, and deserves a freakin' name. We'll see if it happens to show up on the map next year. Side note- O.k., cutting out Gatoraide completely. What can be a problem that 3 hot cups of coffee can't fix? Does the med tent prescribe laxatives?

Day 5-Red Dress Day:
So I missed the sequined tafetta boat on this one. In the past Red Dress Day was a cliquey surprise, established by a small group of riders who can't go a full week without high heels, or at least a wig. Seems it's an institution now, and I'm left holding the purse. Guess I should have spent the extra time and done some shopping at Lane Bryant for something slimming so I wouldn't feel so much like a wet sock today. Perhaps I'm trying to overcome my fear of looking like my Mom when the wig goes down. Is there a stylist in the house??
Side note: This is getting serious. I'm eating like an animal, shouldn't I be crapping like one? Gatoraid not-withstanding, Ex-lax here I come.

Day 6
Ventura and the wind-down. Saddle soreness has become a reality. My seat and I aren't talking after today. Seems the shorts I saved for today have an irritating seam, and the situation is rubbing me raw. Every slip into the saddle induses a scalding screech from me, and is followed every mile by a pitiful whimper, and a serious question of my ability to finish this ride. Dare I say it: My Butt Hurts!! Santa Barbera treats us with what is referred to as "Paradise Park" ice cream, cookies, candy bars, drinks(No Gatorade) and shoulder massages in a comfortable chair. I got a double scoop of maple walnut and looked around for a discreet spot where I could sit on it without anyone balking. Being lactose intolerant, this cone should serve as a perfect solution to recent issues I'm having with my digestive system. If this doesn't work I'm calling a plumber.Tonight we have our candleight vigil on the beach- I'm taking a hotel room and nursing my chaffe.
Side note: - Ex lax has a small opportunity to kick in, I have a whole ring of porcelain to myself for a good 12 hours- talking to my bowels; "Let's make this happen people!!"

Day 7- Home again
The tradition of a hotel on night 6 is a good one. Slept soundly in a large soft bed after a long hot bath, and now I'm in fine form to ride into L.A. with style.
Taking my time today, don't want to arrive at the holding area too soon. Riding along the beach for most of the day, found a strong rider flying past at around 24 mph, so I drafted off of him, and we sailed through the traffic for a good 40 minutes, averaging 20-24 the whole time. What a sweet ride, made the whole trip into L.A. an exciting ride, rather than the drudery of pedaling alone. At one point, the news chopper that was following the riders pulled up along side of us over the shore, and followed me and my pacer specifically. I felt lke I was in an Olympic event, it was such a thrill. Bang and the dogs came to the veteran's memorial shortly after I got there, and we enjoyed the closing ceremonies before we all broke off and went home.

Overall it was an enjoyable week, made some new friends, met up with some old ones. Had my regularly scheduled emotional breakdown on the night of day 5 and called my sister to cry about it. Other than that, more of a justifying experience than a life changing one. Next year will be better, I'm promising myself that right now.

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This week promises to be one filled with physical challenges(I haven't trained in a month) emotional hurdles( I always seems to have some breakdown on day 5 off this ride) and strong feelings of accomplishment (500 miles is a pretty damn long ride).

I am not taking the Mac with me this time, so I'll have to update you when I get back. That blog entry session will be an all day event, as I try my damnest to remember every point during the event. I haven't figured out how I intend to break it down yet, but rest assured i'll have a lot to talk about when I get back.

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I've returned to Casa Del Sol De Mañana to unpack my suitcase, sleep in my own bed, then repack my stuff and fly off to San Francisco to participate in Aids/Lifecycle 4 - a 585 mile ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles over a 7 day stretch. I'm staying with friends Brian and Bart, the Uber-fab gay couple that were married in wine country last year, and dropping my truck off with Kelly and Ed (The Uber Fab Straight Couple) in San Rafael before riding out of San Franncisco on my Calfee from a place called "Cow Palace". The starting point sounds so dreadful I don't know if I should start griping about it now, or wait to arrive at the location before I give my techno-wince and start ranting about the anti-glam of it all. I suppose I'll hold my kibble until I actually see the place.
Who knows, I could be wrong, the place could possibly be nice . . .

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