Camp

T he 13th annual Native Vision camp concluded earlier today in Whiteriver, Ariz. I had a great time, all in all: a lot of fun working with the campers and catching up with the coaches and pros. I'd like to think I will have more to say about the camp in the next couple of days, but I have a busy week ahead, so we'll see. Anyway, here's a photograph of the basketball crew. Notice that there's a hint of photobomb going on here in that the basketball campers are on the court in defensive position while we are posing for a group photo (this was possible because Coach Frost was leading the campers in the a.m. warm-up).

Singing the Search

F or several weeks after I'd happily accepted EMU's offer of a faculty position, the dmueller-edition Q&A recordings continued churning through my portable MP3 player every so often. By then I found them somewhat silly-sounding, an off-key sequence of quirky, wandering think-alouds, something like little pacts between me, my iPod Shuffle, and Kathryn Hume, whose Surviving Your Academic Job Hunt was never out of reach from September through late February. I finally removed the tracks after CCCC, more than a month after I no longer needed to listen to those droning loops of me rehearsing 120-second answers.

Fell Off Bike

O ne second I was on my bike. The next second I was off my bike.

I had no choice but to ditch it. Only, upon ditching it, I also turned my ankle.

It went like this: Riding along on the grass as we exited the Barry Park playground last evening, D. and Is. (in the tot-seat) ahead of me, I came upon a dip--a three-foot rise from the park lawn to the road. Crept slowly, approaching the dip. Rode up the dip. I had the strange feeling that the front tire was lifting too much, like I was pulling a wheelie. But it touched down again, and when it did, the front wheel lurched just enough to create a momentary loss of balance. I was moving too slowly! So I tried unsuccessfully to eject: I put down my right foot, rolled my ankle, and belly flopped onto the bicycle and then onto the ground where I came to rest part on the pavement and part on the gravel. A bona fide, aww inspiring wipeout.

When the dust settled, Is. was explaining to D. that I just tipped right over. When I could breathe again, I got back on and finished the ride. The damages weren't all that bad. Wind knocked out of me (and today very sore ribs) from where the bike seat broke phase one of The Fall, a badly bruised left palm, a scrape on my right forearm, and mildly skinned knees. I'd say there were about the same number of witnesses as when I took a spill on the treadmill at the YMCA back in March. No other falls to speak of in 2009, but there was a close call on a campus visit. By "close," I mean that with coffee in one hand and a loaded computer bag over the other shoulder I did a hard Charleston-style step on the ice (similar to what you'll see when the playhead is at 0:29)

spilled coffee into the air, and then caught the coffee back in the cup without any loss, regained my balance, and carried on with the short walk. It wasn't a fall, but it did have all of the excitement of a fall, none of the pain or humiliation.

I've written about bike crashes here before, but I intend to make this the last entry on the subject.

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