For the fourth time in less than a week, we discovered a bat flapping
around the house.
This morning I was awakened by unusual sound, a kind of ticking
screech. tick tick tick tickticktickSCREEEEEtickticktick tick
tick!
Oh, crap, I thought. A bat.
Another bat. A bat that's apparently angry about something.
Because of my now-extensive experience with bats in the house, I know
that bats are quiet. If you're close enough you might hear the
swish of their wings through the air. Otherwise, all you'll hear are
soft thumps and scratches as they flit around making contact with walls
and furniture.
A tick-screeching bat is a bat that's upset about something. Maybe a
cat's gotten it, I completed my thought. By now the screeching had
stopped. I closed my eyes and pretended I had dreamed it, and figuring
I'd be able to clean up bat remains after the alarm clock went off.
Thump! Scratch!
Nope, it wasn't a dream. I went room to room, looking for a flapping
bat, and closing the doors. I grabbed a towel from the bathroom,
thinking I could use it to catch the flapping varmint and toss it
outside. I knew Barbara would not approve of this plan, but she was
blissfully unaware...
My plan: drive the bat out the back door. If that doesn't work out,
drive it upstairs into the cul-de-sac hallway, then call animal
control.
Coming downstairs, I found all the cats in the living room. Sophie
up on the back of one of the chairs. The bat flapped by my head.
This story has no end. The bat did not go upstairs into the dead end.
It went downstairs, into the basement, with its billion place for a bat
to hide. I took a flashlight and looked around for a few minutes, but
found no sign of the bat. It'll probably come out again tonight.
Barbara's calling animal control today to find out if they have any
recommendations. I have no idea how they're getting in, but we're
operating on the the assumption that there's a colony in the attic. More
news as it develops...
Today is a high activity day:
- Cycle to work.
- Yoga.
- Cycle home.
- Cycle to the dojo.
- Practice. (Both classes?)
- Cycle home.
Total miles: 25
Falls taken: many (but not from the bike)
Barbara found a
piece by Grant Petersen asserting that the benefits to using
clipless pedals and cycling shoes are largely illusory, and that there
are tangible benefits of not using these devices.
Being retrogrouchy myself, though not, perhaps, to the same degree as
Grant or Barbara, I listened to Barbara's summary, then went back to
read the article myself.
As an aside, I think the term retrogrouch
was coined by the cycling community, but the Urban Dictionary allows it
to be applied
more generally. I realized that there's a certain
retrogrouchiness about my black terminal window, command
pipelines, text-based email client, and text editor. But back to the
actual topic...
Repeitive stress injury, Barbara intones ominously. Bad
knees!
Okay, my knees crackle a bit, and there was that time we thought
Barbara was going to have to summon the Coast Guard to pluck me of the
cliffs on the Cornwall coastline, but on the whole I don't think my
knees are that bad.
What's more, I think Grant overstates the risk of repetitive stress
injury as a result of clipless pedals, at least with regard to knees.
Even if my feet move around a little, my knees are still doing the same
thing and undergoing the same stresses over and over. The trick is
keeping the knees aligned with the feet, and this is more about proper
frame size and seat height than about being clipped in. So basically,
[citation
needed].
What I tend to agree with, though, is the idea that special clothes
are not required for day-to-day riding. Today, I commuted in regular
shorts, a cotton t-shirt, and shoes with no cleats. In fact, I took
extra care not to kill myself, or treat my commute like a time trial. I
used a lower gear, spent more time coasting, and didn't not actively
overtake other cyclists like I usually do. The result wasn't too
surprising: I got to work in about the same amount of time.
I have developed the habit of wearing cycling-specific clothes to
commute in, like a wicking jersey and cycling shoes and shorts,
figuring, since I'm going to change clothes anyway, I might as well wear
clothes designed for the activity. Well, my Brooks saddle is more
comfortable without the chamois between it and me, at least for six
miles, about the distance of my commute, so why bother with shorts?
Eliminating cycling shoes means I don't have to carry shoes to change
into (or keep a pair in my locker), which makes the logistical
gymnastics simpler—a good thing.
This morning, I was getting ready for today's Planning Commission
meeting, which requires me to deviate in my dress from my usual jeans
and t-shirt in favor of a suit or jacket and tie.
Having pulled a less-conservative ensemble from my closet, I
said to Barbara, I need your help: can you tell me if this tie
clashes with this shirt?
She looked me up and down, then made a face.
It does...
I said, turning back to my closet.
No,
she replied. Your tie: it's so loud...
Oh, I'm not worried about that. I just want to know if the colors
don't match.
I'm not very good at that,
she told me. Besides, when I
look at you, all I can see is TIE.
Perfect, I thought, and closed my closet door.
Five things I remembered for aikido class last night:
- How to roll.
- Gyaku
hanmi.
- Ai hanmi.
- Beginners' mind. Not a big stretch, there.
- To practice in a vibrant
and joyful manner.
Bonus: Five things I forgot:
- My contact lenses. Maybe I don't need them.
- My dues check.
- Not to slide on the mat. Mat burn! Ouch!
- How to remain standing. But only briefly.
- To find an excuse not to practice.
