How Many MPG?

Thursday, 17 July 2008

The most com­mon se­mi-smarmy ques­tion I get about rid­ing my bike to work is: “How many MPG do you get with that thing?” So I de­cid­ed to do more bike math. There are 2080 calo­ries in one gal­lon of 2% milk. Using the calo­ries burned count from last year [220 calo­ries per day [6.6 miles per day]] I get 62.7 miles per gal­lon of milk while rid­ing my bike.

2080220 = 9.454545

9.5 days * 6.6 miles per day = 62.7 mpg.

If the av­er­age cost of milk is $3.50 a gal­lon, it costs me a lit­tle more than 5 ¢ per mile.

3.5÷62.7 = 0.0558 $ per mile.

So the next time some­one asks, I’ll tell them that I get 62.7 mpg of milk which is about 5¢ per mile; and se­cure my nerd­dom for all time.

Custom Bike Project

Saturday, 5 July 2008

While my Mongoose gets me too and from work de­pend­ably, the thing is so heavy and bulky that rid­ing it in­to the wind is a re­al bitch, es­pe­cial­ly since I can’t even pre­tend to ride the thing in an aero­dy­nam­ic fash­ion, it’s a mountain/​road hy­brid af­ter all.

When I was a kid I had a sweet bike, with a big fat back tire that was per­fect for lay­ing a nice thick piece of rub­ber down when I skid­ded out. The on­ly prob­lem was that it was red, white and blue, and not a very aes­thet­i­cal­ly pleas­ing de­sign ei­ther. So I took the thing apart, paint­ed it black and sil­ver, wrote a name I’ve since for­got­ten on the top tube, and ba­si­cal­ly pimped it out for an 8 – 10 year old.

Now I want to do the same, but this time I want to build my own road bike. This biggest ob­sta­cle to this project is that I’m no bike geek; I don’t know what brand of frame to look for, who makes good rims, gears, shifters, brakes, etc. The learn­ing curve will be kind of steep if I’m to get any­where with this. The biggest help for this will be the few folks I know who are hard­core cy­clists; Lou, Jeff and Andy, I’ll be on y’all like Mama Cass on a ham sand­wich about this, once I’ve got the ren­o­va­tions un­der con­trol.

The Lord Squirmoculous

Thursday, 3 July 2008

Watching Abraham is a nev­er-end­ing source of fun. At first he had no vo­li­tion, at all, but here we are three weeks lat­er and he’s al­ready fig­ured out that he has the abil­i­ty to con­trol his own body. He’s not very good at it, but I can al­ready see some def­i­nite hu­man be­hav­ior emerg­ing. He’s a good boy.

In the evening he’s usu­al­ly over­stim­u­lat­ed from all the new things he’s learned dur­ing the day, so while he feeds he fuss­es might­i­ly. Sometimes he gets full and doesn’t re­al­ly know what is go­ing on and be­comes in­con­solable by Debbie.

I’m an ex­pert, how­ev­er, at both wak­ing and get­ting the boy to sleep. Here’s a demon­stra­tion of the for­mer:

The lat­ter ba­si­cal­ly con­sists of me lay­ing him across my body and let­ting him hear my heart­beat and look at my face un­til he’s out like the fat kid in dodge­ball. Takes no more than 10 min­utes, every time.

I’ve been read­ing him Robert Bly’s The Night Abraham Called to the Stars and The Silmarillion.

The oth­er day I re­ferred to him as Lord Squirmoculous, and treat­ed him as if he were a com­mand­ing alien from an alien in­va­sion force; dis­guised as a ba­by, of course. This has been quite fun, and we’ve been run­ning with it. Saying: “Lord Squirmoculous com­mands x!” and “Your forces are leav­ing Squirmocula now, sir!” and “If you don’t lis­ten to Lord Squirmoculous, he’ll un­leash the Squirmoculizer!” Poor lit­tle guy, he has no idea. Heh.