…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.

My tour guide/friend Gerry must have some time on his hands, even though he has a full slate of 2025 tours to prepare for. He has been playing around with ChatGPT and decided to ask it to tell him about my blog. One second later (!) this is what popped up…

Rich Freggiaro’s cycling blog provides engaging, detailed narratives of his experiences as a passionate cyclist and traveler. His posts cover a range of topics, from epic rides in France’s Provence region to humorous anecdotes about travel mishaps. Notably, Rich recounts challenging climbs like Mont Ventoux and shares the camaraderie of group cycling adventures.

He also blends personal stories, such as his experiences with tandem biking with his wife Diane, alongside reflections on aging and cycling performance.

The blog extends beyond cycling, occasionally touching on cultural observations and lighter topics, making it a well-rounded read for cycling enthusiasts and general readers alike. Rich’s style is approachable and rich in detail, capturing the highs and lows of his journeys.

My Biggest Fan!

“Engaging, detailed narratives”? A well rounded read”? Style that is “Approachable and rich in detail”? Good heavens, I’m blushing. Maybe the Sac Bee or the WSJ or the NYT will get wind of this and make an offer. I work very cheap. Remember The Record fired me…

The scary thing is that I pretty much agree with what Chatgpt came up with. I don’t think it gave me quite enough credit for clever humor, and I think it went a bit easy on the cultural observations. But it didn’t nail me to the wall for my DEI nonsense posts (remember how mathematics and sheet music were examples of white male exploitation?). And it let me off easy on men in women’s sports or in Planet Fitness locker rooms. It also did not take me to task for mocking the pronoun wars. It missed my economic insights completely.

And ChatGPT didn’t understand that many posts are really a love letter to Stoker, although it did mention her. Recall “The Only Serious Question” and the Church of the Living Word in San Pedro Town, Belize. That one is worth a repost here: https://freehtt.org/2022/01/05/a-question-partially-answered/

I have made a real effort not to use any AI products unless they play chess or backgammon. I have both on my phone. The chess program has 12 levels: I kill it on level 7 but on Level 10 I score about 1 win every 12 games. The backgammon program is less successful. Even though I play it on its very highest level, I score a solid 55% wins against it. And it makes some moves I consider mistakes; especially playing doubles or with the doubling cube.

I should ask Chatgpt to write a blog for me, in that “approachable and rich in detail” style. But fear not dear readers, every word that isn’t italicized in my blog comes from my very own, non-artificial intelligence, such as it is.

Actually it was 4 dogs in 3 places, all first time encounters.

After walking Luke the Dog and doing a Honey Do piece of yard work, around noon I decided to go out for a short spin to try my new wheels. More on these light weight beauties later after I have a chance to ride them on some hills. Based on one flat ride I’m very happy.

#1: On Pezzi Road between the bridge and Highway 88. I was heading south and on the east side I was met by a small yapping terrier and an intimidating looking Pit Bull. I’m assuming latter was a ‘he’ since the requisite equipment was clearly visible. But I didn’t ask for pronouns.

I thought it was prudent to unclip before they got too close. Most dogs can outrun me if they want to. I kept saying ‘go home’ in a firm and assertive tone. The yapper kept yapping and the Pit Bull kept staring at me and occasionally giving voice to a woof or a growl. He also kept approaching me. I couldn’t tell if he was looking to be petted or to chew my leg off.

There were plenty of cars in the yard the dogs sprung from, and I kept hoping an owner would appear to call them off, but nobody did. The Pit Bull finally tired of the standoff and eventually retreated out of sight, and the yapper seemed to loose enthusiasm as well. I clipped in and sprinted off, with the yapper following, but I could easily outrun those short legs even though I was riding into the wind.

Sprint Training

#2: This happened while I was riding on Tully Road between Baker and Comstock, heading north. We usually ride this in the other direction, but with the south east wind blowing a bit I was doing everything backwards. I saw a big white dog come onto the road just behind me to give chase. He was one of those bounding friendly lab types, but he could easily knock me off my bike if he got too frisky. This time I had a tail wind, and I can get over 25 mph for a short stretch if I need too. Nothing like a pooch in hot pursuit to get the heart rate up.

#3: On Baker Road heading west between Duncan and Archerdale. There was a big black Shepard type hound on the road in front of me. He was just standing there, looking confused and behaving like a stray that some awful person brought into the country and abandoned. That happens a lot around here. However he had a collar with some kind of tags on it, so maybe he (pronoun assumed) was just out for a stroll.

I unclipped again, since I didn’t want to ride past him until I discovered his intentions. A car came from the opposite direction heading east, and slowed down and put on their flashers, and the dog gave way and left the pavement. This didn’t help me much, since the pooch was still in front of me and I had no notion of what he/she/they/ze would do if I tried to ride past.

Finally the dog decided to wander off the road to the north, and when he got a ways off I clipped in and did my best imitation of Mark Cavendish and sprinted to safety.

One reason my route was so confused is because I have had issues with a canine trio on Eight Mile Road between Highway 88 and Jack Tone. There is a border collie with two big buddies that have forced me to stop multiple times. The last time it happened the owner appeared and we had a conversation from about 100 yards apart. I reminded her there was a leash law in SJ County and threatened to call Animal Control. She ranted at me and said if I had been chased before “why the f… do you still ride here? Are you f…ing stupid?“. I bet she isn’t too good at sharing the road..

Being the non controversial coward that I am, I didn’t call Animal Control, even though I had a photo of one of the hounds and the address on the gate. I also haven’t ridden by there since, which really alters my route choices when riding from home. My only safe choices for ride starts are east or west on Eight Mile, and right now it’s Westward Ho!

“Beauty is truth, truth beauty’ – that is all / Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know”

Keats composed Ode to a Grecian Urn, making the point that its wonderous and delicate beauty would speak to all future generations. I don’t think he would have felt the the same way about this…

“Comedian,” by Italian artist Maurizio Cattelan is a piece artwork (? Ed.) which consists of a banana duct-taped to the wall, with instructions for replacing it when it rots.

Not only did the intellectual artistic community fail to break into laughter at this idiocy representing itself as ‘art’, but it sold at Sotheby’s for $6.2 million! I think it would have been overpriced at $0.62, but with the last four years of inflation I suppose bananas and duct tape have gone up considerably.

Be advised, if you decide to type ‘bananas and duct tape’ into your favorite browser, make sure that ‘safe search’ is toggled on.

This kind of thing is not new. Way back in 1987…

Peeing into a glass tank is no great trick. Neither is purchasing a small plastic crucifix; they are available everywhere religious icons are sold. But apparently if you submerge a cross in your own urine (not someone else’s) and take a photo you can call it art and get people to buy it. The ‘artist’ received $15,000 for the photo, and in 2022 it sold at auction for $142,000. No word on how the glass tank, crucifix and urine were disposed of afterwards.

Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but stupidity should be obvious.

This kind of thing reminds me of the fable of The Emperor’s New Clothes. A con man convinced the Emperor that he was donning a suit so wonderous that only very sophisticated people could see it. And the populace, not wanting to appear to be dolts, marveled at the wonderous raiment, just as the intelligentsia of the art world marvel at these profound ‘artistic’ creations that the Red State yokels cannot appreciate. Finally a young boy (pronoun assumed) says of the Emperor “But he is wearing nothing at all!”. Truth comes out of the mouth of babes, and from the Rich Freggiaro Cycling Blog. Truth is beauty, and the truth is there is no beauty here.

First it was Legos and coloring books and cookies and cocoa. Then came withholding sex and shaving heads. And now this:

Yale University chief psychiatry resident Dr. Amanda Calhoun spoke to MSNBC host Joy Reid on Friday about ways liberals who are devastated with Trump’s re-election this week can cope with news, including separating from certain loved ones.

“So, if you are going into a situation where you have family members, where you have close friends who you know have voted in ways that are against you… it’s completely fine to not be around those people and to tell them why,” Calhoun told Reid.

Calhoun continued, noting that it is important, and even “essential” for people to establish boundaries with family members for their own sanity.

“I think you should very much be entitled to do so, and I think it may be essential for your mental health.”

I’m OK, you’re OK, but only if you vote the right (left?) way…

Ah, Thanksgiving! A holiday with great family traditions and many memories. My mother and her mother before her always did the entire traditional turkey feast. My mom has probably been responsible for more than 65 dinners over the years.

This repast is a massive amount of work and manages to get nearly every pot, pan, dish and wine glass in the house dirty. In the old days the women did the cooking and cleaned up afterwards while the men took a nap. The Thanksgiving Day NFL games have been part of that nap since the 1970’s. Today however, the clean up is coed and my brother and I and our wives take on that task. And we are giving my mom a lot of help with the dinner too. I’m supposed to cook my famous ‘turkey breast with caramelized onions’ which is a bit easier than dealing with a whole turkey.

Guess who might not be coming to dinner?

There will only be 8 guests, all family. And all mature adults. I’m pretty sure we are civil enough not to avoid each other over some political differences. I frankly do not know how any of them voted except for Stoker. Nor do I care. If asked I will tell, and if that means they have to leave, that just means more turkey leftovers for the rest of us.

Ditto for the bike club. I don’t think any of the regulars are going to stop riding with each other over the election results, but I’m not sure. I haven’t been doing many club rides lately for a host of reasons, but political differences are not involved. Actually club conversation tends to avoid controversial topics, unless you want to argue whether disc brakes are necessary or complain about the inability to buy a high end mechanical group set in an era where all shifting is becoming electronic.

But for those taking the chief psychiatry resident’s words to heart and choosing to avoid some people who ‘voted in ways that are against you’, consider this. What you are doing says more about you than it does about them. You have a very self centered world view. Have some cocoa and cookies…

On Friday morning I did what some people consider my civic duty: I got a flu shot and a covid shot. The CDC recommends getting both at the same time. I didn’t read all the disclaimers in the pieces of paper they handed me, but I’m sure they mentioned lots of side effects. As I learned…

By Friday at bed time, which comes early on Brumby Road, I wasn’t doing so well. I had a mild headache. I had a low grade fever. Chills and body aches. I got a fever blister on my lip, a sure sign that I was dealing with some kind of viral infection. And of course my arm felt like they had left a needle in there.

All smiles at first…give it a couple of hours

Friday night was awful. I woke up every hour, shivering and with a raging thirst. On Saturday morning I took Luke for his walk. I did the whole normal route which usually takes about 45 minutes. Yesterday it was over an hour. When I finally returned Stoker said she was starting to worry.

For the rest of the day the symptoms continued. I moved from a day long nap on the couch in my office to an evening on the living room couch flipping between college football games. I was completely out of energy all day and thinking about one of my favorite passages to describe the misery of ill health…

Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs.
Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
Let’s choose executors and talk of wills.
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath
Save our deposed bodies to the ground?

Now that is some fine blank verse poetry, even if a white male did write it. It is apropos when you are feeling awful and thinking that ‘bequeathing your deposed body to the ground’ seems like an excellent idea.

Today I feel a little better, at least well enough to write this. But guess what? This week Stoker and I are going to ‘talk of wills’ for real. And maybe a trust, depending on what the estate planning attorney recommends.

On Saturday I thought I might need one of these sooner that expected

For years I thought our simple will was adequate for our needs. Everything we own is either held as ‘joint tenant’ or in a beneficiary account (like an IRA). In the latter case each of us is the 100% beneficiary of the other. None of those assets are subject to probate. We had a will drawn up by a paralegal which made it clear that each of us left everything to the other, and in the unlikely event we both died at the same time there were previsions to keep the real estate in my family, and bequeath the rest in what we consider an equitable manner.

We set all that up almost 30 years ago, and enough things have changed that I decided to consult a professional and try to do things right. And there are some issues like ‘durable power of attorney’ and ‘advanced care directive’ that we haven’t addressed. So on Wednesday we are going to work on ‘bequeathing’.

The attorney’s office gave me a 50 page worksheet to fill out before our consultation. One question is “What are your primary goals in estate planning”? I wish I knew.

Figuring out what to do with real estate and financial assets is relatively easy, but what about the other stuff? We have some really nice blown glass, and some TV Tommyvision works that might not be valuable but are quite wonderful to us. There is some fancy china and some really nice wine gla$$e$. What about my inventory of bikes? Granted they aren’t really current state of the art, but they are still very nice machines that deserve to be ridden and appreciated by someone. There are two genuine Wassily chairs that Diane and the internet seem to think are somewhat valuable.

One thing for sure, my nephew Tony gets first dibs on the 6 foot tall leather giraffe in our foyer. We’ll try to eliminate any arguments over the chairs on Wednesday.

Very similar to the pair in our living room

I promised I wouldn’t write about the election, and I’m keeping my promise. I’m going to let OTHER PEOPLE speak and write about the election without a single comment from me. Remember I’m just the piano player…

#1 Jimmy Kimmel: “It was a terrible night for everyone who voted against him and guess what? It was a terrible night for everyone who voted for him too, you just don’t realize it yet,” he said.

# 2: A University of Oregon official has been placed on administrative leave after he shared a rant about Trump supporters, including his hopes they “go jump off of a f—ing bridge,” on social media.

“You can literally go f— yourself if you voted for Donald Trump,” UO Assistant Director of Fraternity and Sorority Life Leonard Serrato said in the video clip. “If you are so sad about your groceries being expensive, get a better f—ing paying job. Do better in life. Get a f–king education. Do something. Because you are f—ing stupid.”

#3 (A): Also from the University of Oregon: Ahead of the election, the university formulated a plan to help students with election-related stress. This included bringing therapy dogs, goats and a duck to campus and providing extra counseling services, local media reported.

#3 (B): Georgetown University in Washington, D.C., drew mockery on social media after news broke the college invited students to a “self-care suite” on Wednesday to recover from the stress of the 2024 presidential election.

Students at Georgetown’s McCourt School of Public Policy were reportedly offered treats like “milk and cookies” and “hot cocoa” as well as “Lego” toys and “Coloring and Mindfulness Exercises” to get their minds off the election results.

#4: Scientific American editor-in-chief Laura Helmuth blasted Trump voters as the “meanest, dumbest, most bigoted” group and “f—ing fascists.”

#5: TIKTOKER: “I would go as far to say that I would purchase a Glock and if you and I are walking on the same street and it’s dark out and you’re a white male — you have to be white for this to count, OK — if you’re a white male, even if you don’t approach me, I will shoot you.”

#6: Liberal women are withholding sex from men and shaving their heads to protest President-elect Donald Trump’s landslide victory over Kamala Harris.