Three years ago i would have been there too, lining up for one more start. I’ve done many races in the sort of early-season snowfall we had today. Cyclocross has a reputation for a dirty, muddy sport, but in Minnesota it’s a dry, full-gamut weather affair. The season starts with steamy heat and ends with frozen ground, with few idyllic days between. Our autumn is dry and mud is rare. More common is the snow. At this time of year it typically comes down light but sideways, and it’s not a bitter cold, but it sure feels it after being spoiled with 50+ degree sunny days all month. The wind cuts through you, pushing the shiver down to the bone before the starting gun sounds, surrounded by 100 cold bikes, their riders slapping warmth into numbing hands. By the race’s end you’re gasping for air, trying to hold a sane line and keep the wheels down though you can’t feel your fingers or toes, and there’s no hope of winning anything but the slow pokes are still getting in the way. Then a dash for the coat and hat to keep the steamy heat in, and a beer before you’re shivering again and aching for a hot shower.

Funny how removed it seems, having not raced like that for two years now. I miss seeing some of my friends there, but i just don’t have the drive to race like i did then. I remember feeling like i had put my stake into cyclocross, that was my thing, and i was defending it, especially when the ex’s new husband started doing some races too. I was 40 and in middling shape for the field, but it was good shape for me plus i had a bottomless well of baggage and anger to work out. I had great cheerleader friends and so much of my life then revolved around cycling that the races became a fulcrum point, a release, a progress check on how i was doing as a single person again.

In most ways it seems like a good thing to be past those racing days. At the time i needed it to fill in where something was missing, and in a way to prove myself. I’ve never been a driven type-A cyclist, i’m just out for the adventure and the fun. I’m certainly not as fit as i was in racing trim, but i’m happier now, more comfortable with myself. Not hungry and searching, but content and open. Much better.

I welded a really crappy mount for my 3-speed bike, but i’m planning to build a better one after my welding class. The threaded section of the fork looks like the weak point, it wrinkled a little when i tried to pull the fork legs to the side to level the trailer. Might be fine with typical grocery loads, it didn’t budge when pulling 100lbs of kid down the bumpy alley.

This is the main root of one of the bigger plants, which turned out to be 3 in one, and it braided itself nicely. You’re supposed to wait until after the first freeze to dig it up, but i needed some today for a potluck dish. The potluck season waits for no freeze.

Minnehaha Ave. from Bill Connell on Vimeo.

Twin Cities Framebuilders represent at the North American Handmade Bicycle Show this past weekend in Austin, Texas!

Congratulations to Dave Anderson (left) won the President’s Choice award. Dave is a sponsor of my club, Gopher Wheelmen, and is ridden by many members of the GW cyclocross team.

Congratulations to Vincent Dominguez (right), who won Best Filet Brazed Frame at the show.

The North American Handmade Bicycle Show is in its 7th year of showcasing the best work in bicycle frame building today. Go to the show website to see the full list of show winners

I got it from Keys 4 Kids, an organization that fixes up old pianos and resells them (and sometimes gives them away), much like some of my favorite bike organizations. A wide range of pianos to choose from, and very helpful folks too. It’s a studio piano from 1961, so it’s built like a tank, and it’s in pretty good shape aside from the pre-graffitti’d bench.

I never had piano lessons as a kid. My dad’s family enjoyed listening to music, but i don’t know that anyone there plays an instrument. Mostly i remember my dad saying, “i’ll listen to any kind of music as long as it’s not too loud!”. On the other hand, my mom’s family was very musical; she and her siblings all had piano lessons, and their dad was a high school music teacher. That grandfather of mine played in jazz bands in the ’30s and after retiring from teaching continued to play horn with the Shriners until he was unable to march. I wish i’d been smart enough to talk to him more about music while he was alive. I played sousaphone in 6th grade then trumpet in 7-8th before quitting. In college i learned the rock instruments and played in bands for a few years, mostly bass guitar, but never returned to reading music, everything was by ear.

So when my dad offered to pay for lessons for the girls, it was a wonderful and unexpected surprise. Piano wasn’t their first choice (it was voice and violin), but i offered that if they can stick to piano lessons for a while they can choose to switch to something else later. I started getting interested in playing too – i’ve been noodling on guitar for a while, but it’s hard to stick with it and progress much when i don’t play with others. I really have too many hobbies for my own good. Piano may well also suffer from that fate, but i’m excited to give it a try.

I generally don’t make a big deal of the new year as it comes along, but this year’s changeover is a little special. The piano, for one, and its requisite house reorganization is a good boost to the overall ongoing reorganizing and decluttering project. Also, I’m starting a new job right after the first of the year, after 11 years with the same company (and getting fed up with their precipitous decline). So for the new year, i’m instigating/embracing change and trying new things.

Except that as i drove through the neighborhood home, i noticed that pretty much all the roofs were completely clear of snow anyway, because of the 3″ of rain we got today. My house still had some snow on it, which i attributed to my superior insulation, but i still have some ice damming (damning), so i also have some leaky air to deal with too.

In the end, between the dearth of snow and the difficult roof access, the roof rake took about 3 good swipes of snow away. And it was a pain in the ass to do.

The problem with buying a $50 tool that you hate to use but hasn’t paid for itself yet is that you’re then on the watch for more excuses to use it, and dreading it at the same time. Welcome to the rest of my winter 2010/11.

I love it when there’s snow in the air and the sky is orange and bright, and the hush of new deep snow takes over. The crunch and whoosh of powder over my boots and the crystals of ice growing on my beard. I like passing the closed shops and the houses aglow and the occasional fool trying to drive somewhere, plowing snow with their bumper and sliding around every turn.

I’ve taken long walks in the snow, hiked in snowshoes and skiied, but most often biked. It can be insanely trying to ride in deep snow, and often totally not worth it, but in that time with about 4″ on the ground, or after the first plow has gone through late at night, it’s magical. It’s alien to be riding so fast on snow, having the whole road to yourself, sliding and falling in a snowpile and jumping back at it.

Usually traveling in the snow is unplanned, like the road trip my brother and i took to visit my dad in Ohio one year for Christmas. We drove my little Datsun through Illinois the long way, stopping at a truck stop dumpster to put a piece of cardboard in front of the radiator to get a little warmth from the heater, but never sliding off the road, laughing and joking the whole way.

Most often a snow trip is a lark, and often a grand adventure. I had such a day during the big blizzard of ‘91 that people held as the last big blizzard around here, until today. My friend Marti, a fellow bass player, invited me over to hang out and listen to music. This is just the sort of thing you do when you’re 23 and a musician and unattached and never mind that it’s a cross-town journey and the busses may not even be running.

I think i pushed 4 stuck cars during the half-mile walk to the bus stop, and happily the bus was pretty near on-schedule. It was maybe 1/3-full, mostly with people heading home from work that closed early or trying for a last-minute grocery trip, judging from the few who departed at the SuperValu on the way.

As is SOP, the bus was about 85°F and the windows were fogged, but there wasn’t much to see. Only a few hearty souls out shoveling, fewer still driving, and the city pretty much shut down. Liquor stores were still open, i noted, because Minnesotans in the winter have their priorities, even if we insist on closing them on Sundays.

It’s funny now to think back on days before cell phones. The plan was arranged in one phone call, and neither of us knew if i’d make it there. I had some money with me, but probably no change for a payphone, because i was 23 and in many ways still dumb as a post. But i did arrive with another couple blocks of postholing down what was likely the sidewalk. We walked a block or so to get a 6 pack of beer (still open!), then played music and watched the snow fall and laughed when the busses stopped running and made a night of it.

As the city slowly gave up attending to business as usual today under the growing blanket of snow, i did my job shoveling the walk, i was happy to have my car off the street in a garage, and got the kids excited to dig a fort in the giant pile of snow i’d made in the front yard. It was a good day all-around. But there was still a little spark that wanted to grab the last bus across town and see what happened next.

The neighborhood looks natty and fresh today. Everyone’s out, getting yards raked and roofs patched and gardens put to bed and though few people painted their houses this year they all look freshly done. There’s something about the soft, warm light of a November late afternoon that makes everything look a little better than it is.

We had dogs when i was a kid, but i don’t remember being all that attached to them. It seemed like they didn’t last long, getting run over down by the highway or we’d move again or something. But then, even though the losses would be sad, maybe it wasn’t all that short a time and i just always spent my days on other things instead. I remember a lot more about the books i read and projects i built than the time spent with my dogs.

I got Greta in the breakup, not exactly my choice, but i couldn’t just send her away. She was never really my dog, but the kids love her so and i have to admit that every once in a while, a vanishingly small percentage of the time, i’m happy that she has such a great bark. I’m still not much of a dog person, but a deal’s a deal, and we’ve both got that loyalty thing going for us, so we get along just fine she and i.

It was a busy weekend of house projects, but i’d promised her a walk today. I put her off for just a bit longer for a quick bike ride while the sun was still up because i wanted to use up an old roll of film. The shadows were long but the sky was still bright and i don’t often get to stop and just see. My grandpa’s old camera is perfect for days like this, having to meter and knobfiddle and consider before shooting. I found a old empty pond with a little stone bridge and leaves where the fish and the water would be, and skipped walking the labyrinth because i’d already done my meditation on the ground glass of the camera’s viewfinder.

When I got back to the house, we went right on out and she danced her way down the walk. She’s too big a dog to jump (and she’s old), so her version of dancing around looks mostly like someone trying to clap between pushups. So many days the walk is squeezed in, or done mostly out of guilt, but today was something different. The coming of winter, seeing her weight loss over the last year, catching that tripped step out of the corner of my eye. It’s easier to forgive the poorly-timed and sudden barks, the endless shadowing me around the house. Maybe even the slightly higher rate of puddles on the floor.

There’s something about the soft, warm light of a November late afternoon.