Side story: The 2009 Tour de France

I don't keep photo albums, but occasionally I file away a memorable image. Something like the above pic has staying power for me. It's two brothers and a Spanish guy who climbs like a mountain goat that's been puffing meth.

A caption might read: "With the hopes of Team Saxo Bank on the line, Andy Schleck pulls brother Frank (Saxo Bank) and archrival Contador (Astana)."

By scheduling the gnarliest climb stage 'till the second to last day, the 2009 Tour de France organizers saved the best action for last, assuring better TV ratings and more overall interest. By delaying the fireworks, the best riders would save their most brilliant moves for last, as the final stage in Paris is more-or-less a parade on the Champs d'Elysse.

On that penultimate day, Spanish prodigy Alberto Contador, already winner of the 2006 TdF by default [American Floyd Landis was DQed for doping], held several minutes over Andy Shleck in the general classification. Seven-time Tour winner Lance Armstrong, whose gray hairs now peek out from under his cycling cap, held third at the age of 37. Britain's Brad Wiggins, new to the Tour after winning a gold medal in track cycling in Beijing, was a nice surprise in fourth, especially for Garmin Slipstream fans like this blogger. Wiggins had a minute and change over Frank, the elder Schleck, who rounded out the top 5.

The Schlecks promised they would attack on the penultimate day. They would lose Lance and Wiggins. They would weaken Contador. They would carry out their plan to disrupt Astana's dominance.

So, the Top 5, in review: two Astanas (1 and 3), two Saxo Banks (2 and 5) and a British guy riding for an American team and hanging on for dear life!

The scene of the shootout? Perfectly horrid.

"It's more like the moon than a mountain," Lance Armstrong once said of it, and with its lack of vegetation, abundance of rocks and desolate, intimidating atmosphere, it's an apt description.

It's been the scene of meltdowns, breakdowns and even death.

Britain's Tom Simpson, the first Anglo Saxon to lead the race, died there in 1967 on a 43-degree day. -ABC Sport

So, Andy saved all his guile and vengeance for Ventoux.

He delivered. Ventoux is a bald mountain that kills people, and Shleck was riding it like a rented horse. At 24 years of age, his thin arms guiding his Specialized S3 up the windswept mountain, Andy's aggressive attacks shredded the entire field.

Only two riders on a long breakaway escaped Shleck's briliance: Spaniard Manuel Garate (Rabo Bank) and German Tony Martin (Columbia-HTC). Garate won the stage, but look for the latter rider in GC contention someday-- what a ride from the 24-year old.

Despite his brilliance on Ventoux, at no point did Andy Shleck appear to test Contador's otherwordly climbing abilities. Contador matched every attack, his yellow shoes dancing on the pedals of his Trek Madone. Contador made Ventoux look easy.

In the end, despite repeated attacks, Team Schleck failed to unseat Astana. Contador lost no time, Lance held onto 3rd, and Garmin Slipstream rider Wiggins somehow squeezed by Frank Schleck with three seconds in the GC.

Frank looked flat; he never dropped Armstrong, despite Andy's repeated attempts to open a hole.

Combine Contador's newfound skill in the time trials (he won the final TT), and you have a crystal clear picture of why any rider, let alone the confident Schleck, may not dethrone Contador for some time.

I saw three quarters of the TdF coverage, and I saw Contador grimace-- once. He made the rest of the mind-bending Tour looked easy, even his dash up Ventoux. In fact, Contador said that, with the internal tension between he and teammate Lance Armstrong, he had more trouble in the hotel than the road. I believe it.

Today, Contador finally spoke candidly about his strained relationship with Armstrong. The truth comes out, and it sounds ugly.

My advice to Contador: work on your English some, so you can talk to the media in the world's second language of choice; join Spanish squad Caisse D'Epargne, where it's rumored you'll go to ride with your buddy Luis Leon Sanchez; and don't cross Armstrong.

Everything 80s American cycling legend Greg LeMond was-- that chip-shouldered Yank with legs to back the mouth-- I think Lance is more. And he's riding next year, at 38 years of age, with his Blackberry chirping today with texts from riders interested in riding with his new team, backed by Fort Worth, Tex.-based Radio Shack.

It's too early to say whether Lance can attract enough talent to take on Garmin Slipstream (now officially as hot as the red sauce at Chipotle) or Saxo Bank (Swiss time trial champ Fabian Cancellara + Schlecks), but one thing is certain: Lance would love to take a yellow from Contador.

Enjoy your splendid victory, Alberto. You were bulletproof this Tour, but remember that someday you'll be Lance, 37 and legs aching all the way up the bald mountain of death.

Quote of the Day (7/25/09)

"The real question you have to ask yourself is, 'Are you willing to exist or are you willing to be special'? And special is not what someone else thinks of you but what you think of yourself." -Malcolm Bricklin

Nowhere to be

University of Minnesota's Dinkytown, intersection of cultures. You're never far from someone

Studying.

Walking.

Running.

She dressed in black, some working garb. Nervous, glancing over her shoulder.

He was also dressed in black, some street garb.

She sat in my booth and asked for sanctuary, and he (the hassling man) was gone.

A handshake. She warmed.

Her English. Okay.

My Mandarin. I squeezed my fingers together to make the universal symbol for "None."

She laughed. We chatted. My Bible was open.

Her heart was open. It's funny. In two days, I'll be meeting an old college buddy, Jim Tilus. He's ministering to Chinese students at the UofM. Small world.

Dinkytown, nowhere to be. Be where you are; watch what happens.

-ADB

Quote of the Day (7/20/09)

"It was in the back of the bus in Guatemala, sitting with six people from Solomon's Porch, that it became clear to me. All of us were under age 35 (most under 28), and all of us quite versed in debt management and living off of "barely enough." Here we were, in a terribly poor part of a poor country, building houses for the poorest people, talking about how hard it is to live on what we all make. We were college graduates and teachers, and building contractors, and we concluded that we didn't make enough money. I began to see it clearly: we were all stuck in a consumerist mindset. Our coffee shop and restaurant expenses alone would build housing for the people of this village, if we simply lived on less."

-Doug Pagitt /Founding pastor of Solomon's Porch / Minneapolis, Minn. "The Consumer Trap" Leadership Journal, Fall 2002

How high is your ceiling?

"Twilight on the Prairie" by Gayle Hartman

I am a big picture thinker. I am a big ideas thinker. I'm happiest in the "a-ha" moments of life, when thunderous ideas strike me down to size and fill me with energy.

So, I find of great interest this 2007 study showing that ceiling height impacts thinking. When indoors, a high ceiling induces big picture thinking and creativity. A low ceiling, on the other hand, allows one to pay attention to concrete details.

It's yet more evidence that place matters. In the office, you'll process details with precision and speed. In the coffee shop, where ceilings are usually higher, you'll be inspired to think big and outside the proverbial box, even indoors.

And what of the outdoors, the night sky? If tall ceilings provoke creativity and short ceilings lend themselves to details, what of the 15,000 foot ceiling?

What about the clear, blue night sky?

Perhaps, we ought to spend more time outdoors, our human fragility exposed but our minds buzzing with possibility. I have long maintained that we U.S. Americans are descendants of a frontier people, a campfire crowd, our optimism always on display. It's what makes us who we are, for better or worse.

Aspirational metaphors aside, how high is your ceiling?

St. Ignatius' General Examination of Conscience

Inigo Lopez de Loyola, who later took the name Ignatius, was a Spanish (Basque) soldier of noble birth born in the 15th Century. Wounded in defense of a Spanish fort against the French, his captors were impressed by his courage and took mercy on him. They carried him away from the rubble, to France.

During his healing process in Paris, he began to lead a small band of friends in extended prayer and meditation. Then later the Society of Jesus. Today, those who follow these teachings are known as Jesuits. Three thousands Jesuits live and serve in the United States.

Ignatius' General Examination of Conscience seems to me a wonderful way of examining the "soul aches" or "sins" that can become unresolved sources of guilt.

1. Give thanks to God our Lord for the favors received
2. Ask for the grace to know your sins
3. Examine how you have lived this day
4. Ask forgiveness for any faults
5. Resolve to amend with the grace of God

According to the Jesuits' website,

It may be done at the end of each day, though it can be done more frequently as the person feels drawn. The more frequently performed, however, the more natural it becomes and more a way of growing into an ever-closer relationship with God. It can take anywhere between five and fifteen minutes, although it does not matter how long one spends. The important thing is to open oneself to recognizing and responding to God’s movement in your heart.

The story of Ignatius is a reminder that although growth in prayer is a regular discipline, sometimes a new setting and new challenges can make all the difference between acceptance of a mediocre lifestyle and a new awakening of passion for Jesus.

As I pray, the Holy Spirit challenges me to enjoy to prayer and to deal with my "soul aches," whatever they may be. I feel him leading me to perfect peace and emotional health more than any mystical connection. I'm more aware of God's tender love and mercy for me, and he also gives me "tough love" because I need that, too. I'd rather be honest and open than pray "neutered prayers" that don't lead me any closer to the Truth, so that is how I pray, raw and real.

New look

My old blog, for all that it was, looked like crap. I hope people enjoy this new take. It's warm and rich but still a bit mysterious, as if history and future are aligned for a second under the streetlights.

I'll let a quote launch the new look.

"We must get beyond textbooks, go out into the bypaths... and tell the world the glories of our journey." -John Hope Franklin, Duke Law School

Enjoy.

Everything in blue is Love

As an unpaid intern who sometimes fetched pizza and sometimes wrote press releases, I had been working with the Venture Expeditions guys for six months, promoting a 3,172 mile bicycle tour designed to raise money and awareness for Blood:Water Mission.

Venture granted me a few days riding from LA-SD with the team and a US Airways ticket back to MSP. This trip was my reward for my service. It was also the first time I met Mr. Pelttari, a principal's assistant most recently from Woodstock, Ill.

Without a doubt, Erik Pelttari is the gentlest spirit I have ever met who can rock a mohawk-- like a biker clad in leather-- or in this case a Ride:Well Tour jersey.

He's the real deal, a guy who really loves people. You can't fake that.

After few guys on the Ride:Well team shaved mohawks, Erik, their faithful small group leader, showed solidarity by carving out a swath of his short hair. Combined with a fabulous (and surprisingly "uncreepy") moustache worthy of a 1970s era middle reliever, Erik won the ironic hair contest hands-down.

The day we left Long Beach, Erik and I sat in Sunday school together and listened to a teaching I doubt resonated very much with either of us. By the time we left the class, I was frustrated. Sometimes, people can be right and entirely miss the point. Of everything.

Another rider, Bethany, was sitting on my right, and Erik on my left. Bethany comes from a stream outside the Assemblies of God (AG). Since were launching that day from an AG church, the AG topic came up. Myself student of an accredited AG institute of higher learning, I filled in Bethany on what I thought about the history and direction of the movement. You might call my briefing an informed critique.

Admittedly, I am egalitarian and pragmatic to a fault. I often say I'm "allergic" to the endless hierarchies and structures of religion. For me, the cumulative effects of living in "the club" without a real encounter with the living God (and each other) is as effective as replacing my daily Gatorade rations with watered down lye. It kills my soul and spirit. I check out.

At some point during the sermon that morning, Erik opened his Bible to the book of 1st John. "Everything in blue is Love," he told me before handing me the Bible. I pored over the highlighted pages.

Erik had used a blue highlighter to call attention to what we both understood to be a defining theme of the book. In fact, everything hinges on love: Johannine lit, Pauline lit, the New Testament, the Old Testament, the story of God, the world, the cosmos. It all rests on love, whatever Love is.

Erik noted that the ink had bled through the pages, as if he had somehow ruined the text. Yet, Erik's Bible still in my hands, I was beside myself. It was as if the emotions of months of the cumulative passion of the Ride:Well Tour has been combined into a few seconds. I felt the joy of new discovery and the rare feeling knowing someone else really understood.

If the entire universe hinges on this thing called Love, perhaps it's worth studying a bit? The willing crucifixion of Jesus Christ is regarded to be the greatest act of love in history, but what does it mean for my life? Today, I'm looking for something a bit deeper.

So, I'm going to knock on the door of a Danish existentialist named Søren Kierkegaard. Perhaps, his treatise "Works of Love" will unlock for me an additional layer of meaning. I've been in "Works of Love" before, but I didn't need to be. The encounter was cold. Now that I'm in this place, I expect a totally different reading of the text. Sometimes, you have to be ready ...

Sticky love

It's been a long day. Against my better judgment, I've been trading sleeping time for reading and writing time. Tonight's reading is theophiliacs, which calls itself "the most prestigious post-evangelical tea party in the Twin Cities." A friend from the college newspaper days is a regular contributor. I can't tell if they're a big deal or not. Who cares? This blog is rocking.

The type of conversation at theophiliacs is akin to the "behind closed doors" discussions you might hear in a seminary library-- deconstructing culture and faith to its most ancient roots, no matter what "sacred cow" must be slaughtered on the way. Idealistic, of course, and a little pragmatic. I did enjoy the post "10 Things Christianity Must Do." It's a wish list for a Church we may never see. Yet, we must hope.

As I drifted off to sleep, another writer began to take the stage. This time, the writings of Paul washed over my mind. Tonight, the Apostle's words provoked in me a certain dissonance. I felt the familiar and disconcerting sensation of being so close to the Truth yet missing the essence, the takeaway.

"Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity." Col 3:12-14

And I ask myself, what is this Love, this adhesive which skillfully binds these virtuous elements?
I tossed and turned, because I had lost the point. And then I remembered his words "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." Jn 15:13

Sacrifice is a virtue, no doubt. Yet, this verse is missing the essence of Jesus' sacrifice. Paul clarifies the matter in Romans.

"Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." Rom 5:7-8

So, Jesus had a good idea that his sacrifice would be accepted by many, as his prayer in the same chapter of John indicates. Yet, the Romans passage tells us that he also knew that some would not accept the message.

It's not love for love's sake but love for Christ' sake. Maybe, Jesus is saying, "I laid down my life for you in hopes that you would do the same for me someday." It's not that our sacrifice would justify us before God, but perhaps our sacrifice would endear us to our Creator?

So, as I drift off to sleep, I will imagine what empathy I could show to God, if anything. It seems like he has been trying to help me understand how he feels, and that scares me. If God does have feelings, I might need to do things differently.

I think the god I made, the god without feelings, is sick. I think he's really sick. I can feel him dying inside me right now.

He who remains is alive, gleaming like the sun, ready to receive me now. It's taken all night to kill the god of my own creation, but he's dead now. So I can sleep.

Massive he remains. Smaller I shrink.

Big God. Big Love.

Dog days of summer

The past two days, I have devoted my leisure time to breaking in my Vibram Five Fingers. I like this life. It keeps me healthy, wealthy and wise. Today, I took Sofia and Oliver, the Shepherd/Lab mix puppies, for another swim-- their second in as many days.

Sofia is a loveable dog because she is different. She was conceived when her father, a 100+ pound white German Shepherd, dug under a fence to declare his love for Mom, a smaller-sized Yellow lab. From their forbidden love, beautiful blonde puppies were born, and we picked her, the one who shyed away from the strangers. To this day, she still regards all strangers with painful suspicion.

While I haven't met Sofia's parents, she seems to take after Dad's breed, the German Shepherd. She is anxious-- always on the lookout for "hostiles" who want to hurt the pack. She diligently guards the entry and monitors traffic flow, both vehicular and pedestrian, through the cul-de-sac. With maniacal barking and occasional panic yelping, she alerts of any unusual activity, which in her mind means "all activity." She lives on pins and needles, and I think it makes her tired.

Yet, Sofia is faithful. She has been a protective and fun-loving outdoors companion since she was barely strong enough to walk. I vividly remember her soft furry body struggling through puddles twice her size, never missing a beat. Those who know her love her, even though she has a strange and obsessive personality. "It's not her fault she's weird," we say.

Besides her talents in running and security detail, Sofia also loves swimming. If you ever get the chance, observe her technique, her long legs stroking the water, her brown snout cutting just above the brown river water. She is graceful.

Today, I called Sofia and her brother out to the middle of the river, where I was floating a few few feet above the river bottom. With a kick and a splash, the dogs began treading furiously towards their pack leader.

Sofia, the better swimmer (and also the better listener), reached me first. Her paw found a solid place on my leg, and seeing her panting, I grabbed her in my arms and floated her along, the current streaming over my back as I began to move us upstream.

I hoped Sofia would come along and rest her heaving chest, but rather pathetically, she began to move her paws again. She thought she was the one moving us along! Seeing the futility of carrying her, I released her like a fish off the hook and pushed her butt towards shore. Sofia paddled back to the muddy bank and waited for her human to finish his soak.

During prayer tonight, I realized I have been Sofia. How can I rest if I won't stop swimming, and how can I move upstream without the Master? God isn't asking much of me-- only a few moments. Too often, I fail to oblige him, because I remain dutifully confident in my own abilities. I think this is sad.

God, you are my portion. Your word declares that they who wait on you will surely renew their strength. Help me to rest in your arms of love, before I grow weary. Help me to to release the externalities that drive my thoughts away from your grace so I may truly enjoy our rest. And if the current should ever prove too strong, carry me. I give you this day; it is all I have. If I see tomorrow, I pray I remember the day I learned to rest. Amen.