Author Archive for oni

Death rides a black QR

Published on July 21, 2008 in bike by oni. Closed

At lunch time I found myself watching the okole of Death receding into the distance up Tantalus till he turned a corner and was gone. My head felt like it was going to burst along the pattern of vents in my helmet, I couldn’t get a breathe in, my legs were burning and it was bloody hot. Other then that, it was all good. I was dressed in my chicken slaughter shorts and orange t-shirt, which looked pretty ugly, I have to say. At least I had black gloves on.

I had agreed to a Tantalus ride. Partially because I’m trying to get back in cardio shape, and partially because it’s a compromise. Death has been trying to get me to go trail running with him. Now…that’s not something outside the realm of ol’Oni experimenting with, nope. However, when your guide into running trails is an absolute animal, well, that changes things. Let’s just say he likes to suffer a lot more then I do and leave it at that. Continue reading ‘Death rides a black QR’

Go Play In Traffic

Published on July 9, 2008 in bike, rant and Review by oni. Closed

I violated one of my cardinal rules last night. I knew I was violating it while I was doing it, but I figured it would be okay (just this once!). I bought a cheap bike floor pump…

Sunday found me, “The Wife” (just an FYI, sometimes when you refer to your wife as “the wife” instead of her actually name, certain fringe segments of the female gender get PISSED. So you have been warned!) and “The Kid” up at my parents house, having a cook out.

Personally, I was engaged in a personal fashion show, looking for the gaudiest cycling clothes I could find as I was finally going to start commuting to work a couple of days a week. I’m getting old and weak and it’s time to put the 8 inch hydraulic brakes on that! (nice deft cycling metaphor there, eh?) Continue reading ‘Go Play In Traffic’

“returns must be accompanied by a receipt…”

Published on June 10, 2008 in bike and rant by oni. Closed

Fatherhood has changed me in some profound ways; ‘cute’ is now part of my vocabulary and I use it on a regular basis. I talk to people with babies. And like it. Other people come up to me and talk to me about “The Kid” and their kids and what not. On Sunday at Costco I had an oba-san walk alongside of me, coo’ing at “The Kid” to get him back to sleep as I tried to hide from the horde. I have developed more empathy for kids and parents and hot moms.

Am I lost? Was what made ‘me’ me gone? So you have to imagine my glee when I felt the return of the hate the other night at the shop. Know that feeling when you first step barefoot into mud? The hate is sorta like that wet, squishy sensation that makes a lot of sucking noises that you grow to like once you realize it’s warm and it’ll get all over everything and it’ll hide you from the Predator monster till you can gather your strength to go mano y mano with it. Continue reading ‘“returns must be accompanied by a receipt…”’

the wool blanket ride

Published on June 5, 2008 in bike by oni. Closed

Madam Pele had swathed O’ahu in a thick blanket of itchy vog. Throats scratched, heads hurt, and sinuses throbbed. The days were gray, albeit with some interesting light patterns as the vog diffused the sunlight. Occasionally, as the sun reached out for the horizon, it looked like an flaming orange. Sadly, it would quickly hide behind the impenetrable vog.

Despite the dire warnings of the well gelled talking hair on the evening news, the call went out for a ride on Friday night.

Slightly different group this time, Foes was off island, looking at the cool cars. Home Grown was in, as was Svelte Turner and Mr. Moment and Mrs. Ventana. Rounding out the group was the Yeti, able to be out and play for the evening. The other Mr. Moment was at home, listening to the anal rendition of Elton John’s ‘Rocket Man’. Bad news indeed. Continue reading ‘the wool blanket ride’

O Jeans

Published on July 21, 2007 in Review by oni. Closed

I really like casual Friday. It’s one of those days when you can forgo the aloha shirt/slacks/dress shoes uniform and dress more how you want to. I was looking forward to this most recent casual Friday as I was going to wear my newest pair of sample jeans. I bought them at the most recent sample sale, and in all honesty, I didn’t need them, but for $25, I figured, why the heck not?

The sample size stuff all has a 34″/”L” waist. Depending on what it is, it’s either snug, loose or just right. Having learned my sample jean shopping error some time back, I decided to actually try them on before I bought them (genius, I know it!). Grabbed a nice, soft pair replete with zipper (button fly sucks, as far as I’m concerned) and tried them on. They fit good, albeit with some silly patch on the outside of a knee and some silly stiching. Yeah, don’t think so. Back at the jean’s rack, I found another pair, with a button fly but they’ve got that worn/sanded/rough look that’s all the rage these days. Hey, for $25, how can I go wrong?  

Friday morning I get up and deal with feeding “the kid” his morning iron suppliment and bottle. Have to be out in Kapolei for an 0800 training session, so it’s kind of early for me. Pull the jeans on and..uh…stuck on my thighs. With a bit of wiggling, they get up around my thighs and I can button them up with no problem. Hum…guess they didn’t make these jeans for retired mountain bikers with big thighs. I look down at my pants and I can see my VPL. Bad, very bad.  My underwear collection doesn’t deal well with this type of fashion emergency, so what’s a guy to do?

Go commando of course! So I spent the day being very careful to not to show ass crack as I bent over/squatted or really just moved at all. Dang jeans stop about three inches below my belly button, so I felt like a trashy school girl (except for the urge to wear lipstick, eyeliner and other assorted female accouterments). While being trained on a new computer system, I amused myself by counting how much change I had in a pocket. Despite having a short waist, the pockets were long and halfway down my thigh. Not wearing those jeans to casual Friday ever again.

 Moral to the story? If you’re going to be sitting next to a flaming coworker for eight hours, make dang sure your shirt covers your crack!