We form a key structuring element of White heteropatriarchal supremacy.” 

I was a little bit worried that the results of the last election would reduce the material available for my clever social commentary. My fears were unfounded. First, from an interview on NPR, paid for at least in part by my income tax dollars:

Most of the people I hang around with are cyclists, and we all complain that we need to lose a few pounds. Of course none of us does. On the rare occasions when I venture into a movie theater I am stunned by how many very large people there are, taking their seats armed with popcorn and sodas and candy to keep them from starving over the next two hours. And many of them are Caucasian, so I guess they missed the Supremacy Memo.

And for my readers with offspring attending college, look where your tuition money is going:

Professor Bethany Letiecq wrote in the Journal of Marriage and Family about her theory “that marriage fundamentalism, like structural racism, is a key structuring element of White heteropatriarchal supremacy.”

I’m not going to guess the appropriate pronouns, so I’ll just say the Letiecq is a professor at George Mason University, located in northern Virginia and close to DC. The school is named for one of the founding fathers of the United States of America. Ever since DEI we all know this country was founded on structural racism, but I had no idea that marriage fundamentalism was a culprit too.

It is really kind of amazing that the University retains its name. Mason was a Virginia land holder who owned slaves. When Professor Letiecq solves the marriage fundamentalism issue, she can proceed to the University Name Change Committee.

I love the expression “white heteropatriarchal supremacy.” I’m not sure what it means, so I actually went to the Journal of Marriage and Family and looked at Professor Letuecq’s paper. If you thought calculus or microeconomics were complicated, you are in for a shock. Although my brief read through convinced me that the treatise is ‘full of sound and fury, signifying nothing‘ except that white male heterosexuals are responsible for all the ills of the world.

On Brumby Road, we practice our own version of marriage fundamentalism. If Stoker isn’t happy, nobody is happy’. And on her part, Stoker lets me rant and rave a bit when we have disagreements, secure in the knowledge that we will end up doing it her way. It’s fundamental…

Some readers may wonder why I haven’t written about the tariffs and the stock market and the future of the world economy. The reason is that everyone has an opinion, and the kinder and gentler me is trying to avoid conflict. I am pretty much against anything that stifles free trade unless those measures enhance national security or are a response to other countries using unfair trade practices to take advantage of us.

So I don’t know if the actions by the Trump Administration are going to be positive or negative. If they lead to a retaliatory trade war and produce a recession, or even worse, a global military conflict, they will prove to be a horrible mistake. If they lead to serious negotiations by nations to create free and fair trade agreements and economic cooperation, they will be a boon. I don’t know which. Lots of pundits, and some of my friends, seem quite sure that they know the answer already.

Here is one view of the objective:

“At the end of the day, I hope it’s agreed that both Europe and the United States should move ideally, in my view, to a zero-tariff situation, effectively creating a free trade zone between Europe and North America,” Musk said.

That would be good, and I hope he is right.

Now on to the stock market. When I look at our personal financial situation, I follow a couple of self imposed rules. I keep our stock market allocation between 60 and 70% of our assets. And those stock investments are not going to be needed for at least 5 years. No forced selling to make RMD’s or pay for a deck replacement (which is almo$t done).

I also do a spreadsheet (surprise!) and look at our asset allocation and total net worth every weekend. I built in some hypothetical calculations of what a 20% drop, and a 40% bear market would do to that total. So I have seen on paper what is happening now, and while I would rather the stock market stay high I am willing to accept the risk of major short term declines. Because those declines happen. The reasons are always different: Financial crisis, dot com bubble bursting, Covid, rampant inflation, a mega volcano in Montana, take your pick. This time it is global uncertainty of the future of trade, supply chains and geopolitical turmoil.

Climbing a wall of worry…the scale is logarithmic, so the slope represents the rate of change in market value

There is over 100 years of stock market history, with many examples of these crashes. Everything looks bad and everyone is sure that the end is near and the apocalypse is upon us. And eventually the market moved to new highs and resumed its long term trend of producing real returns (adjusted for inflation) of around 7.5% per annum. To get that return you have to accept volatility. You don’t have to like it, and if it causes you anxiety and loss of sleep, then better to stick with CD’s. You might beat inflation by 1 or 2%.

Someone said that the 4 most dangerous words in English are “It’s different this time“. Maybe it is, and we are never going to see new market highs and we are on the verge of economic and societal collapse. If you think so then sell stocks and buy guns and gold and water purifiers and emergency food rations. Or heed the magnificent voice of John Houseman when he did Smith Barney commercials back in the 1980’s: “Is the world going to end tomorrow? Probably not.”

Last month Stoker and I took a 5 day trip to Death Valley, with overnight stops in Ridgecrest and Lemoore. On what I used to refer to as an ‘Old People’s Bus Trip’. But now we are old people, and it is nice to have all the accommodations arranged and the itinerary decided in advance. By somebody else.

Riding in a bus up and down the San Joaquin Valley, I noticed things I don’t see when I’m driving. Mostly the incredible agricultural bounty of Central Valley. The almonds were blooming and I wondered who was going to eat all of the crop from those endless orchards.

We all know the valley is flat. But occasionally we passed huge mounds of dirt, laced with concrete and steel trellises. Towering above the surrounding fields, looking like the ruins of some ancient civilization. All alone and not connected to anything. They might be ruins eventually, but they aren’t ancient.

Modern Day Chichen Itza? The Mayans are Laughing

Back in 2008, the voters were promised a transportation Nirvana if they would just approve a bond issue. This being blue California, a voting majority does not ask about the finances, thinking money grows on (almond) trees, or only rich people pay taxes. If it sounds like a good idea we approve it, whatever it costs.

In 2008, California voters approved $9.95 billion of state bond funding as seed money to build an 800-mile high-speed rail (HSR) network connecting Los Angeles and San Francisco, and the Central Valley to coastal cities, at speeds of up to 220 miles per hour, with an expected completion date of 2020.

The green segments are ready for use. See any? Me neither.

The original promise was that the entire ‘bullet train’ would cost $40 billion, and whisk passengers from SF to LA in 2 1/2 to 3 hours. Project proponents speculated that the line would transport 90 million passengers each year. That is 250,000 per day, which seems like an optimistic forecast. Almost as optimistic as the construction schedule.

Here we are in 2025, 18 years after the bond issue and 5 years after the 2020 start date promised to the voters. No track had been laid. Plenty of money has been spent though.

It gets even better, which means even worse. The new plan is to complete the line from Merced to Bakersfield first. Talk about a train bound for nowhere! That alone is now projected to cost $33 billion. And they need $7 billion STAT!

During a budget hearing focused on transportation in the State Assembly on Wednesday, Helen Kerstein with the California Legislative Analyst’s Office told lawmakers the project faces a $7 billion budget gap and the funds need to be secured by next June. If not, Kerstein said it will create yet another delay for plans to finish the project’s first segment between Merced and Bakersfield.

The hope is to complete this (virtually useless) segment by 2030 to 2033. Anybody taking bets?

Readers, fear not. The Rich Freggiaro Cycling Blog isn’t going anywhere. There is plenty of lunacy around for material.

But today’s blog is not about lunacy. It’s a love story, expressed as shared experiences and effort getting ourselves from Point A to Point B using our own power. And creating some of the best memories of our marriage

We started tandem riding in 2005, on a very mediocre bike that a friend wasn’t using and offered to loan us. After a couple of months we bought that Cannondale from him. Our first big ride was the local Giro ‘d Vino, back when it was a metric century (62 miles) with more riding and less sipping than now. We had been doing some rides with the Stockton Bike Club, where we could survive without getting too far behind most of the time. So this ride came as a shock. There were lots of casual cyclists on the road and for the first time, I found myself saying ‘On your left’ as we passed other riders.

We became convinced that riding together was something we wanted to do, so I knew we deserved a better bike. And we got one: a CoMotion Supremo, made in Oregon. We took delivery in 2006, and over the next 15 years put over 30,000 miles on it. It weighed about 33 lbs. , something like 12 fewer that the Cannondale it replaced, And it had much faster wheels. Diane picked out the paint scheme, a 3 color fade from black to pewter to silver. Of course that was the most expensive paint option; Stoker likes nice stuff.

We became semi regulars on Club rides. We pedaled up Stoney Creek Road. Once. I decided I wanted to stay married. We did Ram’s Horn Grade. Once. Ditto. We climbed the Calaveras Road Wall outside of Milpitas. Once. Double ditto. But loops out of Ione or Wallace were regular training rides for us.

Training for what? Cycle tours. We rode down the entire Oregon Coast. We rode in Death Valley. Rode in the Arizona Desert and to the Mexican border. We did rides in Solvang. And we rode from Glacier, Montana to Jasper through the Canadian Rockies. Up the 10 mile climb of Going to the Sun Road. And over the 25 mile slog up Highwood Pass, the highest paved road (elevation 7,250) in Canada.

We rode a rented tandem in France for 5 days in 2015. That went so well we did 2 weeks in 2016, and then rented a house in Malaucene for an entire month from 2017 until 2019. We rode rental tandems in France and left the CoMotion home. Breaking down a tandem for international shipment was beyond me.

In May 2019 in France, we had our best month ever. 17 rides, 450 miles and 29,000 feet through the hills of Provence. We were strong and it seemed that we could do this for a long while yet. It turned out to be our last hurrah.

We started 2020 getting ready for another trip to France, but Covid stopped that. We cut back on our riding; there didn’t seem to be much point. The Club rides were stopped so it was just Diane and me, with no social interaction at all.

Even when Covid was lifted we didn’t go back to riding. Health issues, nervousness on the pilot’s part, a decline in the watts we could put out. Getting the CoMotion up any hill was always a challenge for us both, and I know my power numbers aren’t really up to it any more.

We fell out of the riding habit completely. It turned out that our very last tandem ride was on Halloween, 2021. We did a slow 21 miles to The Fruit Bowl. Trick or treat!

Since then the CoMotion has been hanging in our garage, gathering dust. Unridden and unloved. A reminder of what we did together and what we can no longer do. I’m only a little melancholy about it. Life goes on, we still have each other and most of our health. And a thousand incredible memories.

I started asking people I know if they were interested in the bike. I didn’t have a lot of hope. A few people said maybe. But then two really good friends and strong cyclists expressed interest, and I got excited. They actually have a tandem and had done some riding together, but their bike is a semi truck and the CoMotion is a Ferrari by comparison. Their first test rides convinced them that if I didn’t want the bike, they would be happy to give her a good home.

I didn’t take any money for the CoMotion. Doing that seemed to be a ’30 pieces of silver’ betrayal to me. I did suggest that my friends could make a donation to a charity Diane and I support, and they did so. Now they own the CoMotion and I can see them ride it occasionally on club rides.

So Stoker’s stoking days are over, but she will always be Stoker to me. Pedaling and smiling.

Some people might consider me a foaming at the mouth MAGA sycophant eager to worship the ground 45-47 walks on. They would be wrong, at least when it comes to tariffs.

I was in the process of writing a blog featuring the greatest hits of Adam Smith and David Riccardo. I was going to extoll the virtues of free trade after spending an entire semester studying comparative advantage. I was going to point out that Smoot Hawley and other nations’ reciprocal responses made the Depression much worse than it needed to be, and probably was a major cause of WWII.

I really think that most tariffs, most of the time, are a mistake that makes everyone poorer, or at least less Pareto Optimal. Cut me some slack for using the economic jargon: I don’t want to let all those hours in class between intramural softball games and keg parties go to waste. I also think that countries that trade freely with each other tend not to go to war with each other.

So I was in the process of writing how imposing 25% tariffs on imports from our two closest neighbor nations and biggest trading partners was a big mistake. And before I could hit the ‘publish’ button I got my balloon popped.

The U.S. struck last-minute deals with Mexico and Canada to delay new tariffs, after separate calls with the leaders of both nations.

The tariffs were set to go into effect at midnight tonight, which might have precipitated a crises with the Big Game on Sunday.

Ever since Bud Lite threw away its #1 beer in the US status with an ill advised woke commercial, Modelo sales skyrocketed. Nothing woke about their commercials: pretty women and manly men with a Latino (not Latinx) flair. And on Big Game Sunday, the cerveza will flow free of a 25% surcharge.

La Cerveza Mas Fina? Modelo begs to differ.

Ditto the guacamole. If it weren’t for avocados from Mexico there wouldn’t be enough guac for 3 Chipolte franchises, let along all the Big Game parties. Crisis averted.

I’ve got to publish this quick, before the earth shifts again and I have to do a major rewrite. So their may be some typos (get it?). But fewer than 25%.

BTW, you will note I’m calling it the Big Game. Facebook may have a new free speech policy, but the NFL does get touchy when anyone messes with their trademarks. I’m pretty sure my blog with its 10 readers might pass under the NFL trademark lawyers’ radar, but I’m not going to risk it.

Facebook used to be a place where it was pretty easy to get censored or banned. If you opined that the Hunter Biden laptop was real, and not some deep fake Russian disinformation creation, you could expect that post to go away, and receive a quasi threatening note. Or if you ridiculed the Covid bat cave/wet market origin story, and said that a lab leak was far more likely, you could kiss your news feed goodbye for a bit. Mention Fauci and gain of function research and NIH funding, and you could forget about seeing any kid pics or vacation selfies from your friends for a while.

But the times they are a changing. Way back in August 2024, Zuckerberg offered some of us a mea culpa. Yes we were asked to censor by the Biden Administration, and yes we did. We’re sorry. It won’t happen again.

Then back in early January, he announced that FB was eliminating the fact checkers.

These are nice, flowery sentiments, but given the history of FB ‘editing’ content from politically incorrect, non-woke posts, some of us are going to be a bit skeptical. Like me, for instance. I actually got my blog posts removed twice, but I think it was because I referred to a certain Bond girl by her character name. And because I mentioned the name of a piece of ‘art’ from the 1980’s that involved urine and a crucifix. The names were a bit ribald even if they were accurate.

But I am a skeptic no longer. Facebook is really setting out on a new, non-woke path.

Meta boss Mark Zuckerberg has reportedly directed the removal of tampons from men’s restrooms in the company’s offices, which had been provided to support non-binary and transgender employees who might need them. Facilities managers across Meta’s Silicon Valley, Texas and New York offices were ordered to get rid of tampons and sanitary pads from the men’s bathrooms, according to a report in New York Times

I’m surprised that Meta still has men’s bathrooms. I’ve noticed some ‘all genders’ signs at various locations, though I haven’t used one of those myself. The tampon removal represents a sincere effort to return to some sort of normalcy. They could go all the way (!) and put in condom dispensers as replacements. He’n and She’n, or He’n and He’n, the safe way. Company policy.

I doubt we will see Zuckerberg in a MAGA hat anytime soon, but perhaps you can wear one when you post your next selfie. And be confident that you won’t go to Facebook Jail.

…over the septic tank, as Erma Bombeck put it.

Country living has its advantages, but it also has some drawbacks. Our version of Dry January means no rain, not abstention from vin rouge. So on Monday Diane decided we needed to turn on our drip irrigation system. Normally this is a turn key operation, but I anticipated problems. We have squirrels cavorting on our property, and I would love to shoot them, but I can’t hit anything. For some reason the rodents are not content stealing walnuts and tearing the bark off of young trees: they like to gnaw on drip lines too. Squirrel floss perhaps.

We had several major punctures, including one that was buried near the bottom of a dense rosemary bush. I had to cut an opening through the foliage and work in a very confined space to fix that one, scratching my arms and hands in the process. After about an hour the leaks were all fixed but I was cold and wet and muddy.

Then on Friday we got a nice postcard from Sweet Pea Septic, reminding us that it had been 5 years since our last pump out and perhaps it was time for another one. One thing nobody wants is a backed up septic tank, and we don’t want the grass to get THAT much greener. So I called them up and scheduled an appointment.

The woman who helped me could not have been nicer or more competent. She asked me if both the tank hole covers were going to be dug up and exposed, or would they have to send someone to do that? I said I would do the digging, no problem. She said I would save myself $240, since that is what they would charge to do it.

Growing up on a farm and then spending a quarter century as an adult trying to make a living farming may not have taught me a lot. But I did learn how to use a shovel. Notice how some parents start their kids on skis from an early age? My dad handed my brother and me shovels around age 5 and taught us how to use them instead of how to schuss down the slopes.

So this morning I went to work, and after about 90 minutes I completed the excavation. $160 per hour!

Notice how little extra digging I had to do to expose the holes.? Did I use AI to help me find them? Or perhaps head to the Google Play Store and download the appropriate app? There is probably one called “Septic Sleuth!” there. But thanks to my dad, I had a much more low tech method. When we installed the tank back in 1983, he suggested that I had better draw a map so I could find the holes when it came time for the first pump out. Basic geometry and triangulation to the rescue!

It is amazing that I have been able to pull this out every five years for the last 4 1/2 decades. I keep it in a special folder labeled “RF DO NOT TOSS” . I would be hard pressed to produce my college diploma, if I even still have it. But when it is time to dig and pump I know where to look.

That particular walnut tree is still there, by the way. It was fully grown when I was a kid in the 1960’s so it must be over 70 years old. Things really do change slowly on Brumby Road.

Last Thursday I put in a long turn riding in front of our 8 person group. I set the pace on Jackson Valley Road from the Camanche Road stop sign all the way to Highway 88. My friend Lyle paid me a very nice, completely unsolicited complement afterwards. He said that he really liked the way I pulled. Very steady and predictable with no surging or slowing. I try…

Cyclists all know this, but for my non-rider readers I need to point out that a cyclist in front is working harder than those trailing ‘on his wheel’. Something like 25% to 33%, depending on how fast we are going, how hard the wind is blowing, and from what direction. This is called ‘the peloton effect’ and it shapes every race or group ride, depending on how the riders use it.

Here is one way to use it. There is a Strava segment from Buena Vista to Highway 88 along Jackson Valley Road.

Usually this segment goes into the prevailing wind from the northwest, but back in January 2016 there was an approaching storm and the wind had shifted to the southeast. Perfect for trying to set a PR.

I heard my Garmin go ‘beep’, which meant the timer had started. I accelerated to a pace that I hoped I could hold for 3 miles.

My friend Fearless Frank is a noted drafter. He loves to find a good wheel and sit on it. On that day his strategy was perfect. He trailed behind me by about 2 or 3 seconds, letting me cross the start line first. His Garmin beeped a couple of seconds after mine, then he sprinted to catch me. Fearless can really sprint, so that was no problem for him. Then he sat on my wheel for the entire segment, letting me do about 30% more work. He didn’t stick his nose into the wind once. But since we finished together, he is 2 seconds faster than me on the leaderboard.

Just FYI, those power numbers are estimates since neither one of us was using a power meter. I’m pretty sure our actual power output was lower. Fearless and I joke about that day occasionally. Tim Krabbe called riders who sit on wheels and don’t take turns in front ‘sweat thieves’, and on that day Fearless robbed me blind.

Another way to use the peloton effect is to sit behind somebody for 3 miles, then get out of the saddle and go hard and create a gap a couple of hundred yards before the stop sign. That happened to me yesterday. I was in front of a group of 6 or 7, pulling on Acampo Road going west from the Liberty Winery all the way to Lower Sacramento Road. I was riding pretty hard but being careful not to drop anybody. Suddenly Rider X came up on my left, then got out of the saddle and sprinted hard and got a gap.

Now I consider this a pulling faux pas. If he had simply wanted to get in front and give me a bit of a respite, he should have eased ahead and given me a chance to catch his wheel. After all the time I had spent in front, that would have been the polite thing to do. But he decided to sprint.

So did I. I am not a great sprinter, and my legs were pretty tired from the long pull, but I put the hammer down as much as I can, which isn’t much. But it was enough. Rider X is no Fearless when it comes to sprinting.

I was doing 200 to 250 watts on the front when I got passed and gapped. 5 seconds at 525 watts, 20 seconds at 430 watts; an all out anerobic effort did the trick. When I got close to the stop sign I looked in my mirror and there was nobody close. The would be gapper had been gapped. Garmin paints the picture.

Remember a club ride is not a race. Until it is…

From the US Department of Health and Human Services (HHS):

“Today on Pansexual and Panromantic Pride Day, everyone deserves to feel seen, respected and supported—no matter who they love. Create a world where everyone feels proud to be themselves!” HHS declared in the tweet.

At first I thought ‘pansexual’ might refer to some bizarre kitchen fetish. I can’t see how something you use to cook scrambled eggs has any erotic appeal whatever, unless it is the non-stick aspect that attracts. Slippery is better…

But no, it turns out that pansexual is yet another point on the spectrum of gender identity politics. I found the definition on Google:

Pansexuality is sexual, romantic, or emotional attraction towards people of all genders, or regardless of their sex or gender identity.

For years there was a perfectly good term for this kind of thing: bisexuality. It meant that a person swung both ways. Guys used to joke, and perhaps hope, that their wives were three cocktails away from being bi. But in the modern era two genders are not enough, so a distinction has to be made. Again, from the Book of Google:

Bisexuality is being attracted to more than one gender, while pansexuality is being attracted to all genders.

This is a distinction without a difference in a binary world. Brumby Road is binary in many things: true/false, right/wrong, left/right. That would include male/female. We long nostalgically for the days of Smokey and the Bandit, when Hollywood could give us dialogue like this and not worry about whether is was politically correct:

Bandit: “Snowman, are you out there?”

Snowman: “I’m doin’ what I’m supposed to be doin’. What are y’all doing, he’n’ and she’n‘?”

Actually I kind of enjoy that some people like ‘he’n’ and she’n’, and some people like ‘he’n and he’n,‘ and some people like ‘she’n and she’n‘, and some people like all three. But really, isn’t that enough? How many permutations of romance and intimacy can we deal with? If there are n genders, then the number of combinations of pairings of 2 is

n + n!/2!(n-2)!

3 genders have 6 pairings. 4 genders have 10 pairings. 5 genders have 15 pairings. The formula is for the number of combinations of n genders taken 2 at a time and allowing for identical parings like ‘he’n and he’n’. It does not account for throuples or orgy numbers. Even Fibonacci numbers don’t grow fast enough for that.

I think 3 combinations of 2 genders is plenty, but I don’t much care who identifies as what, as long as they leave me alone and don’t scare the kids or the horses. What I really object to is that HHS, funded by taxpayers and staffed by overpaid and underworked Federal employees, uses money they confiscate from me to recognize and publicize this nonsense.

I hear the new administration is creating something called DOGE that is going to look into making the government more efficient and cutting out waste and silly spending. Start with the HHS employees issuing tweets to “Create a world where everyone feels proud to be themselves!”. Pave the streets and defend the country and leave us alone to find our own self esteem. If you are short I know people who have some to spare.

That is what Diane said during the cocktail hour last night. While we were both staring at the couch Luke should have been on.

We had to say goodbye to him on Tuesday. Lap of Love came to Brumby Road so he wouldn’t be stressed. Dr. Michelle could not have been kinder or gentler or more caring. Diane and I both shed a few tears, naturally. We kept his collar and a paw print. He’s going to be cremated and we will find a spot in our living room for his ashes and collar.

We’ve had many pets over the years: 6+ cats, 5 goats, and 3 dogs. Most of them got old and weak and needed to have their suffering ended. It is never easy. I think Luke was the hardest, certainly for me.

He came to us 16 years ago, through a chain of events that constitute a ‘butterfly effect’ almost as unlikely as the one that brought Stoker and me together. For the first time in our marriage we were completely pet-less, and had been talking about getting a dog. One day Diane was driving to Lodi and saw a small black dog wandering around on Eight Mile Road. She was headed to an appointment and couldn’t stop, but on her way home she looked for him, without success.

Later that week we were on a Friday tandem ride to The Fruit Bowl. That was very unusual; at the time I was doing most club rides on Tuesday, Thursday and weekends, and Friday was almost always a rest day. At the Fruit Bowl this small black dog was hanging around. He would accept food if you tossed it to him, but he would not get close enough to touch or pet. Ralph Lucchetti, Fruit Bowl owner and long time friend, said the dog had been there a few days and his men were feeding him. Ralph said he could get a leash on him, so Diane and I decided to take a chance and take him home.

That was over 16 years ago. He started as an ‘outside’ dog, but that didn’t last long. He made it into a dog bed in the family room, then onto the couch, and finally into the inner sanctorum of the Master Bedroom.

Who’s Bed is This Anyway? No Room For Rich

For 16 years we’ve been hearing the tap of feet on the floor or on the sliding glass door when he wanted to get out. We would hear the tinkle of the dog ID tags on his collar as he walked through his kingdom looking for a comfortable spot. We would find him on the couch or on our bed or on a patch of carpet in the sunlight on a cold winter day. He would always join us for dinner, sitting patiently and plaintively hoping his people might give him a morsel of something relatively healthy for hounds. I almost always got up earlier than Diane and while I was sipping my coffee he would often jump up into my lap and get cozy.

Diane was right, there is a hole in our house. And in our hearts.