Sunset, November 14

Ringmountain

Spent the day working in Marin County at the high-end home furnishings retailers that shall remain nameless. I go into the company’s underwhelming suburban headquarters complex, which sits in a little valley between Mount Tamalpais to the west (about 2,500 feet at the peak) and Ring Mountain, an 800-foot ridge to the south and east.

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When I came out of the office, the sun had already sunk behind Mount Tam’s long, high ridge; but it was still lighting up the top of Ring Mountain. I’ve taken to exploring the neighborhood, and found a way to walk up to a trail that goes up to the top of Ring Mountain. Since the light was going fast, I took a picture from the company parking lot, then drove up to the trailhead. Wonderful views in every direction —  south, across the top of the Tiburon Peninsula to San Francisco, north and west to the long silhouette of Mount Tam, north and east across San Quentin, the world’s most picturesque prison setting, into San Pablo Bay.

Sunset, November 13

Sunset in a neighbor’s window. It was beautiful out here today. Probably close to 70. Clear and dry and except for the short daylight, no clue what time of year it might be, except a nice one. Thanks to the fact the 49ers were playing the Bears today in Chicago, I got to see the contrast with back-there weather. In the first quarter, the temperature was 49 and falling, and it was blowing so hard (gusting over 50 mph, I think)  it seemed hard for the players to predict what would happen to the ball from second to second as it sailed through the air. The wind turned a game between two pretty bad teams into a decent entertainment. Important from the native Chicagoan’s point of view: The Bears won.

Sunset

Look Ma, No Pedals

I was out riding late yesterday afternoon — a short loop out a flat route to San Pablo Dam Road, north of Berkeley, then south along the far side of the Berkeley Hills, then back up Wildcat Canyon Road through the hills and home to the flatlands below. Near the top of the 2.7-mile Wildcat climb, I thought I felt a little looseness in my right pedal, but when I really focused on it, nothing really seemed amiss. This put me in mind of an April ride out to the Point Reyes LIghthouse, when my left pedal sheared off as I stood up to climb a little hill, and I had a low-speed crash. I started to ponder whether I could have ridden on one pedal back to the nearest town, Point Reyes Station, in time to find a bike shop, get new pedals, and ride the second half of the 188-mile ride I had started. That western end of Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, where my pedal disintegrated, is severely rolling. Obviously I could have walked up the steeper stretches on the way back to town, then coasted the downhills, and propelled myself one-legged on the reasonably level stretches. I’m guessing it’s about 15 miles back into Point Reyes Station from the lighthouse. Just idle speculation: It was just after 1 in the afternoon when my bike broke. I’m sure I could have limped back to town in say, three hours. So maybe I could have done it; I probably would have finished the ride at about midnight. Of course, then I wouldn’t have seen the two gray whales that cruised by the lighthouse as I waited for Kate to pick me up. And I’m leaving out of the equation the fact my front wheel was trashed when I went down and pretty much unrideable.

Anyway. I stopped at Inspiration Point at the top of Wildcat Canyon to take a look at Mount Diablo and the hills to the north and east in the dusk. The moon was a few nights short of full last night, but very bright, and Mars was rising. Just a beautiful evening. After a couple minutes, I clipped in and started riding back to town; the view of Mount Tam against the still-red sky was striking. After a quarter-mile or so, the road bends to the left and starts descending; as I picked up speed, suddenly my right foot seemed to come unclipped. Weird. I couldn’t seem to feel the pedal to clip in again, so I stopped. As soon as I put my right foot down, I could feel that I the pedal body was still clipped to my cleat and shoe. My first thought was that somehow the pedal had worked loose from the crank arm. But when I shone my light on the crank, I could see that the right spindle had sheared off, just the way the left one did in April.

Another cyclist — no lights, no helmet; “Maybe I have a death wish,” he said — appeared out of the dark and asked if I needed any help. He took a look at my pedals and said, “Those are shit. Get yourself some Dura-Ace or some Speedplay.” “What?” I exclaimed. “Those are Look pedals.” It wasn’t until later it struck me what a lame response that was. My guess is that, absent some sort of impact that would cause a fracture, this kind of failure should happen approximately never. And I’m not aware of ever having crashed my bike hard enough to damage either of the two pedals that have broken this year.

Pedals

[My intact left pedal and the broken right one.]

Anyway. Five miles from home. One pedal. I had to walk up one little bump of a hill on the way back to Berkeley. The rest was a cruise. But: It hadn’t really occurred to me how tough it might be to ride one-legged. There was no way to get up out of the seat for bumps, for instance. And since I was a little out of balance on the bike — I rode most of the way with my right foot on top of my seat post water-bottle cage and my right knee pointing way out to the side — I really didn’t feel safe letting myself go too fast; in fact, at speed it seemed unsafe to take my hands off the bars at all. So, to get back to Point Reyes: With a working front wheel I could have made it, probably. But it would have been a different kind of workout, and not much fun.

Candidate on a Hill

Ron Dellums, who used to represent Berkeley and parts of Oakland and other East Bay locales in Congress, announced last month he’s coming out of political retirement to run for mayor of Oakland. Dellums says the decision surprised even him: He arrived at the event where he declared his candidacy uncertain whether he would run. He said he made up his mind when he took the podium and saw the yearning in the audience’s eyes. “If Ron Dellums running for mayor gives you hope, then let’s get on with it,” he said. The Chronicle quoted a supporter as saying that Oakland was “finally getting the progressive leadership it deserves.”

The campaign issues Dellums talked about in his announcement sermon were universal health care, ending poverty, and inspiring young people. About more mundane problems — the kind a mayor might actually be expected to do something about — he told reporters later: “Potholes are important, but that’s not why people asked Ron Dellums to run.”

Leaving aside the question of why he referred to himself in the third person — maybe it’s just important to keep repeating the brand name — I don’t fault him for reaching above the gritty concerns of urban life to project a lofty vision for his followers. But at some point, governing a city comes back to potholes, or at least what’s happening on the streets.

Yesterday, Dellums gave another talk, to Oakland’s African American Chamber of Commerce. He spent some time ridiculing suggestions that his experience in Congress has not prepared him to lead a city. He talked some more about universal health care, but mentioned that as mayor he’d also be concerned with education, public safety and economic matters. “We can become a model city and grapple with every problem,” Dellums said. And: “I come not to tinker at the margins, but to ask you to join me in an effort to do big things — great things.”

From the stories and TV pictures, the crowd loved what they were hearing (with the possible exception of Ignacio De La Fuente, a City Council member who was the front-runner in the mayor’s race until Dellums’ experienced his podium impulse). And what’s not to like. He’s an extraordiinary speaker. Still, the specifics?

One of the local TV stations, KTVU, ran a clip in which one of its reporters asked Dellums what distinguishes him from the other candidates in the race. Dellums called the question “grossly premature.”

OK, maybe a guy just needs time to think. But five weeks after he declared his candidacy, and just seven months before the election, it’s fair to wonder what Dellums has in mind for the city he wants to lead. Oakland’s a real place with real needs and problems, not a city on a hill. It’s wonderful to expound on ideals and possibilities, but no amount of impassioned oratory will fix them without a plan that grapples with the city as it is.

I’ve never been a big fan of Jerry Brown during his tenure in Oakland. I’ve always felt that his approach to governing the city was a little imperious and arrogant. He took office as a major leaguer who came to show the bushers a thing or two about how to get things done; he was a big thinker who was going to broaden the horizons of poor, petty Oakland; and if the locals didn’t understand how smart and wise his vision was, he’d just run over them until they got it.

But if you listen to Brown now, he at least suggests he’s learned something about the real nature of leading a city. Last month, he described being mayor as a “much more in-your-face, concrete, down-to-earth reality than what you’re faced with at the level of governor or congressman, where you’re dealing with the great issues of the day, but dealing with them at a high level of abstraction. … Instead of an omnibus crime bill, you have to deal with shootings in Ghosttown in West Oakland and sideshows in East Oakland.”

So maybe Dellums can start out by learning something from his fellow superstar and talk about what he’d actually try to do, aside from being a symbol of uplifting ideals, if he becomes mayor. In fact, the most inspirational thing he could do for the city would be to lay out a pragmatic plan for turning his progressive faith into on-the-street reality.

Still Life, with Guy

Kate left for a teachers’ conference at a very nice hotel near Portland. Thom’s in Eugene. Eamon’s in Japan. I’m home alone. With the cat.

So I came home after a part-day freelancing for a high-end home furnishings retailer that shall remain nameless. I let the cat in. I checked the mail. Our cellphone bill was stated as being triple what it actually was. I spent 20 minutes on the phone with the cellphone company, which vary graciously corrected the bill.

I polished off the end of a bag of tortilla chips. Had a beer. Then an ice cream bar. No one’s here to tell me not to.

Then I started semi-obsessively checking the election returns. The more conservative counties in Southern California reported first, and for the first couple of hours after the polls closed, two of Conan‘s four propositions — one that would require unions to get annual permission from members to spend their dues on political causes, one that would require public school teachers to serve five years to get tenure, instead of the current two — were leading. But none of the ultraliberal Bay Area counties was in yet. Neither was L.A.

I finally persuaded myself to stop hitting reload on the election returns page. I went out for a walk in the hills. Stopped at the store. Came back. Now all of Conan’s propositions are losing.

Can I get a yee-haw?

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Voting No

Conan
Conan the Governor forced an election on the state to give De Peepull of Kollyfawnya a chance to enact his "reform" agenda.  I’ve struggled with whether to give in to my utter dislike for Conan and simply vote against anything and everything he proposes — the "Whatever It Is, I’m Against It" approach — or to soberly weigh my responsibilities as a citizen and vote on the measures according to their merits.

I’d like to say I’m taking the high road. But I’m not. It’s mostly because I think that at best, Schwarzenegger has appropriated the language of latter-day populism to bully opponents; at worst, he’s a demagogue. There’s a fundamental dishonesty in his carping crusade against "politics as usual" and "special interests" — the catch-all term for anyone who opposes him, whether it’s Democrats, teachers, other working people, their unions, or union leaders — while he curries favor and raises funds from the state’s corporations and business interests. There’s a fundamental dishonesty in the way he calls for fixing the state’s finances while refusing to even discuss the tax side of the equation. There’s a fundamental dishonesty in his positioning himself as a moderate Republican who stands apart from the party’s conservatives; true, he’s pro-choice, and he straddles the fence on the gay marriage question. But just remember that during the last few days of last year’s presidential campaign, he went to Ohio to campaign for Bush. 

So, even having thought about some of the propositions and whether one or two  might deserve support (I’m thinking of Proposition 77, which would set up a less-partisan reapportionment scheme), I’m voting no on Conan’s whole list.

The Cornwalls Come Calling

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Once upon a time, King Middle School, the local junior high school, had an overgrown, scrubby patch of broken asphalt at the eastern edge of its roughly 16-acre campus. In the early ’90s, the widely renowned Berkeley chef and food philosopher Alice Waters approached King about clearing the lot and planting an organic garden there. The project happened, and became known as The Edible Schoolyard (pictured above). All the kids at school get a chance to work in the garden as part of King’s curriculum, and the program is a widely lauded public school success story.

But the The Edible Schoolyard has become something else, too: a magnet for Class B (or maybe B+) celebrities. Maria Shriver, mate of Conan, was there last year. Senator Barbara Boxer stopped by once. So did Fred (Mister) Rogers (OK — he’s on my A celebrity list).

Kate and I noticed while we were out walking this morning that the streets around the school are off-limits to parking between 6 a.m. and midnight on Monday. Aloud, I wondered why. Kate remembered that Prince Charles, who reportedly has a deep interest in organic gardening, is dropping by the school tomorrow along with his comrade in arms Camilla. The duke and duchess of Cornwall within spitting distance (just an expression) of Holly Street. I’ve never gone out of my way to see a royal before — neither the hereditary ruler kind nor the pop culturish kind — but since they’re dropping in, I’m tempted to go look the Cornwalls over.

Cipro: The Sequel

So, my doctor prescribed Cipro for a relatively mild but persistent gastrointestinal something or other I reported. Before I took one, I noted the rather alarming-sounding list of possible side effects. Maybe at that point I should have said, gee, I don’t really feel that bad, and I’ll wait before I take this stuff. But I took the first of the 10 pills in the five-day course prescribed, and the second. And then I googled “quinolone” — the class of antibiotics of which Cipro is part.

Even factoring in the fear-and-panic-amplification effect of the Web, what I found was kind of unnerving. The first hit you get is to the Quinolone Antibiotics Adverse Reaction Forum; on the top level, that’s just a bunch of links, including many that no longer work. One that does work is to the alarmist-sounding DrugVictims.org. More links. One that caught my eye was an October 2001 article from the Wall Street Journal: “Surge in Cipro Use Spurs Concern About Side Effects.” It starts:

“After anthrax fears spurred everyone from New York’s governor to hundreds of postal workers to take the antibiotic Cipro, drug-safety experts are now predicting a rash of health problems caused by the drug itself.

“Most troubling is the fact that three similar drugs, all chemical cousins of Cipro, already have been pulled off the market after being linked with severe side effects and even death.

“Cipro, or ciprofloxacin, is one of several fluoroquinolones, a controversial class of antibiotics that can cause a range of bizarre side effects: from psychological problems and seizures to ruptured Achilles tendons.”

I was already feeling uncomfortable taking this drug. Now I felt like I didn’t want to take another dose of Cipro. So, even imagining the warnings about starting an antibiotic and not finishing it, I stopped taking the stuff (how much harm could one day’s worth do? I guess I’ll be finding out). Of course, to be a perfectly responsible health consumer, I probably should have conferred with my Kaiser physician first. What I did instead was send him an email just now telling him about my uneasiness with taking this medicine and what I decided to do. It’ll be interesting to hear what he has to say about it.

I’m also thinking about where you draw the line on this kind of concern. Very few medical treatments are without risks, from aspirin to flu shots to childhood immunization. Sometimes the risks are serious. I guess I’m thinking about the benefits of taking Cipro versus the potential cost. The benefit is that this antibiotic will make good and sure any potentially harmful bacteria in my digestive tract (as well as all the other flora down there) are good and dead. The potential cost I’m most worried about is suffering some sort of traumatic muscle or tendon injury somewhere down the line brought on by the drug.

Drug Post

We belong to Kaiser Permanente, the big California-based HMO that’s an outgrowth, I believe, of the private health-care system set up to take care of Kaiser shipyard workers during World War II. It’s got a wildly mixed reputation, though our experience has been better than OK. I called the advice line last night because of what I’ll term persistent gastrointestinal distress. Once they could tell I wasn’t hemorrhaging or making the call while balled up in the fetal position on the floor, they said they’d have my personal doctor call back today.

At 6:58 a.m., the doctor called. He’s a young guy and so confident and so seemingly happy to be doing what he’s doing that you can’t help but like him. Even at 6:58 a.m. He went over my symptoms and said just in case I had picked up an E. coli infection, he wanted me to take an antibiotic called Cipro for the next five days. I’ve heard of Cipro (ciprofloxacin); t’s strong stuff, and among other things is used to combat anthrax.

I went to the Kaiser pharmacy, picked up the stuff, and brought it home. Then I started to read the cautions. It can cause sun sensitivity, and you need to avoid prolonged exposure to direct sunlight. It can make you drowsy, especially if you have a beer while you’re on it. It can jack you up if you’re drinking caffeine or on theophylline (an ingredient in some asthma drugs and a component of some strains of green tea). Pretty average stuff, though more potential effects than I would have expected for an antiobiotic.

Then I read the Kaiser “Patient Information Leaflet” on Ciprofloxacin (sip-row-FLOX-ah-sin, the leaflet instructs). Under side effects, it lists the usual portmanteau of symptoms (including many of the things you might be taking Cipro for in the first place). It runs through “serious” but “unlikely” effects — just one, the sun sensitivity. Then it continues:

“Tell your doctor immediately if any of these highly unlikely but very serious side effects occur: seizures, mental/mood changes (including rare thoughts of suicide), numbness/tingling of the hands/feet, hearing loss, easy bruising or bleeding, persistent sore throat or fever, irregular heartbeat, chest pain, stomach pain, yellowing eyes and skin, dark urine, unusual change in the amount of urine, unusual fatigue.”

Also, Cipro can cause tendon damage. All of that was enough, honestly, to make me ask myself how bad I really felt. Did I want to have to deal with the effects of a very heavy-duty drug when I wasn’t incapacitated? I sort of dithered until Kate came home. I talked to her about it, and her take was, “Listen to what the doctor said.” So — I took the first of the 10 tablets prescribed.

No seizures or suicidal thoughts. Yet. I’ll keep you posted.

Back South

We were gone 51 hours. Drove 1,035.3 miles. Left Eugene today at 1:51 p.m. and got home (514 miles later) at 10:34 p.m. Stops in Weed, Redding, and Williams. And in Dorris, California, too, to snap a picture of the Elm Motel (see below).

Elmmotel

5:03 p.m.: Dorris is the first town you hit in California as you head south from Klamath Falls on U.S. 97. The highway makes several turns in town. This place is just south of the last bend, and just across the street from the big restaurant in town, a divey-looking place called La Tapatia. In addition to these two establishments, Dorris (population in 2000: 886) boasts that it’s the home of the tallest flagpole west of the Mississippi. Whether the claim is true or not (and I can’t find anything right now that contradicts it — stay tuned), the flagpole is an eyecatcher.

Shasta

5:11 p.m.: You could see Mount Shasta for well over 100 miles to the north along U.S. 97 today, despite partial overcast. This is from closer up — it was probably about 45 miles to the northeast of the mountain and just a few miles southwest of Dorris and the warm welcome waiting northbound travelers at the Elm Motel.

Corvette

7:13 p.m. At the In-N-Out in Redding. There were two Vettes parked just outside. This was the nicer one and the better picture.