RyanHarne.com

I have wanted to say something for weeks but was never sure whether the issue deserved its own spot or just a minor reference. It is deserving, I have concluded.

The Apple Remote is great and purely simple. I was immediately in awe the first time I used it - a full-featured remote with an interface simple enough to complement the other Apple products out there. But even on my first try, something seemed amiss.

Then, another leery feeling. And another. And WHAM! it dawned on me.

The Apple Remote has a terrible, haptic flaw. The Menu key is fully flush with the rest of the remote body. While the ring of the other buttons provide a lifted surface to interact with without the need of a glance at the unit, the Menu button always requires that you - ok, at least me - look at the remote to make sure you are touching it. The gap around the button is insignificant enough, too, that the average thumb - again, mine - cannot distinguish its locale.

Solution: the Menu key should be given a slight concavity inward to provide a tactile capacity to locate the button without the need of visual confirmation. Why inward? The ring above is convex out. An inward button is the perfect yang to the ring’s ying.

I already submitted my Apple feedback form. Und du?

The threatening summer weather makes me pause and check out the windows for ride-deterring, skyward signs. It was difficult to fit in seven days of riding this week; but each night, sure enough, a break in the showers would appear, some sun would dry most of the dampness from the roads, and I was able to press through the clearly tangible humidity for an evening of cycling.

Yesterday was spent doing household chores - vacuuming, some early attempts at bedroom ornamentation, bike going-overs - while my mood was unusually tranquil. Instead of hitting the road, I took the evening to ride the Huckleberry Trail and surrounding Blacksburg area. Even though I was minding the moments by keeping my heartrate down, something probed me enough to query, when was I truly going to push myself on the bike? As much as I was lost in the magical serenity of the evening compared to my typical grueling rides, an internal team manager wanted to know if I was ready for another step.

Today, I decided to take the 50-mile loop to scratch that off the weekly list. The map shows only 43.9 miles, but I cap it off by continuing down Luster’s Cove and then taking a steep incline up Ellett Road, far more painful than the existing Harding Road climb, eventually adding the 50th mile with a lap around the drillfield at speed.

For rides over 25 miles, I have always stopped at some point to refuel with an energy bar and some general rest. My mental coach chimed in as I was nearing the feedzone for my ride this afternoon, just go. And I did. At mile 30, I hit a second wind that has never appeared before with this ride. By mile 44, I was ready for the climb up Ellett. Though I skipped the capping drillfield lap, I finished the loop without once stopping, using the eat-on-the-go techniques Nik has mentioned to me.

Stats are as follows: trip distance: 48.6 miles; trip time: 2:32:02; average speed: 19.2 mph.

In addition to this first, the loop allowed me the cross the 2,000 mile mark. Eight weeks of after-work riding give me a hallmark to celebrate. I am too old to begin training for serious cycling events, but local or regional races are a possibility, and one that I certainly am looking into right now.

It took me two hours of rest to recover enough so that my thoughts could solidify in words. What a day.

My creative element has vanished this summer. The camera has barely escaped its case, my traditional nightime walks for contemplation have been exhausted, cooking attempts stall much beyond grilling some frozen okra or asparagus. Perhaps the move took a lot of life out of me, giving me instead a great deal of responsibilities and financial obligations to trouble myself with. Then, I suppose, that the VT orientation stuff just demands every bit of me.

I think I am just grouchy that the rain is going to keep me from cycling tonight.

To spite Jeremiah’s advice against the brand, I bought another LaCie drive. I have come to the point where my iTunes and iPhoto libraries are too great for my internal iMac drive - mainly because of the switch to RAW photos and the uncontrollable auto-downloading of some awesome podcasts. The packaging is nothing special for hard drives, but includes an unwarranted claim.

I do not appreciate product claims without some supporting evidence, or even an asterisk that makes me assume the small print elsewhere on the packaging could buffer the statement. Do professionals choose LaCie? Really? I like the brand already, but you didn’t have to agitate my angry-not-gonna-bike-tonight mood with an ill-referenced claim like that.

Maybe the thrift store has a cheap exercise bike I can grab. Something.

Addendum: I spate Jeremiah’s advice because we had a heated conversation a while ago about external hard drives, in which I arrived with a predilection towards LaCie; as much as I spite, he’s still one of my best friends, though I haven’t seen him in years, now. The rain stopped, I biked through a miserably humid air, and my mood improved. I discovered that my new tires buzz when I corner too tightly - warning me that should my speed decrease, I could eat it right on Main Street, where I love to corner the tightest of all. I haven’t unpacked that new LaCie yet - still looking for those professionals.

Best: free, over-the-air HD broadcasting.
Worst: knowing I will be bound by the time frame of The Office once season four launches this fall.

Best: meeting someone “in the wild” yesterday who had an iPhone and then been given the pleasure of messing around with it while she and her husband bought a MacBook Pro.
Worst: meeting someone who saw the single Zune on display at the bookstore and said, in awe, “there it is …”

Best: the weather cooling down and wind relaxing enough that cycling is more like cutting through butter than through stale bread.
Worst: colder mornings where walking around without a jacket is not a possibility, so then once you get to work you have to take your jacket off.
Best: whistling “Didn’t Leave Nothin’ But The Baby” on the walk to work because the mist and chill clearly remind me of that moment in O, Brother even though mist and chill are not present in that scene.

Best: one serving of M&Ms in the evening after a hefty ride through Ellett Valley.
Worst: one serving equals one king-size bag.
Worst: one king-size bag equals the desire to buy two king-size bags on my next visit to the grocery store.
Best: chocolate food comas.

Front Row affords the greatest possibilities when you wish to enjoy some digital media without lifting so much as a finger or thumb. Following my mega-ride today and the wobbly showering, I lay down on my bed, entirely motionless, and used the Apple remote to listen to a great episode of This American Life. When I return after a ride like that, both my physical and mental capacities require a recharging.

This summer has played an interesting chorus compared to other seasons or semesters. I haven’t been to the gym once, partly due to not being able to sneak in, as was previously assumed a straightforward ploy. My upper body has expired while my lower body resembles the haunches of a racing horse. Watching footage of the Tour reveals that once I succeed in increasing my cadence to the level of racing, my muscles will further change ever closer to resemble tightly strung cables. Complete with cycling tan.

Though I anticipated working nights on research while VT orientation & Apple occupy my day, this has not been so. No mental cleverness to approach engineering problems remains once I return home from the bookstore. If anything, my corpus requests attention with a brief ride to ward off compounded stresses from the 10-hour standing. Should I try to work any more with the research in the nightime, I fear for my safety. I fear that last summer’s mental disaster would repeat itself. Having now comprehended the reaches of what mental capacities I can manage and maneuver through, I know better than to strike onward towards the precipice. The instant I begin to lose passion for my work - be it for Apple or acoustics - I know to retreat, literally, and recover, with a renewed sense of balance and appropriation.

So, at the moment, my engines are running just fine, with some current inattention to my research, though will be addressed in the very near future. My mind stays sharp and nimble. My body continues its transformation towards a two-stroke, two-cylinder engine. Power stroke and exhaustion stroke. Though, even the exhaustion stroke affords some power, with the efficiency-minded addition of cycling shoes. Summer, indeed.

My bagel knife took a shot at my good-hearted morning handling and decided to attack Tuesday. Less than twelve hours later, I punctured my first tire, luckily just one mile out of town. But, I wasn’t watching my bagel-cutting that morning as carefully as I usually would and my tire was already as thin as would hold a pressure.

Following a quick tune-up of my bike last night with Chase, we decided to take some laps around the drillfield. We weaved through throngs of orientation freshmen who were sitting in 20-person circles with their upperclassmen leaders, likely providing a decent distraction from the unnecessarily serious and forced conversation.

Typing with my left index finger wrapped in a band-aid is more difficult done than said. Riding on some newer, slicker, racier tires is wonderful. Standing for 10 hours of the day, shifting postures and positions, and awkwardly propping myself like a flamingo to alleviate discomfort in my legs, is all a moderately painful and less-than-exhilarating dance.

At least I remembered to grab my cinnamon sugar container before leaving home this morning. When could I ever turn down a toasted bagel with cinnamon sugar?