We coulda taken him

I spent two years as a Mormon missionary. Except I didn't go anywhere exciting like Brazil or Mongolia. I went to Sacramento. I know.

The only "cool" thing about the location is that I was in some rough inner city areas and pretty much didn't see any white people for two years. Well, there were a few white people, but they were definitely the Larry the Cable Guy crowd. And I don't think I saw a car that had been manufactured in the last ten years except the one I was driving. I also spoke Spanish, which was more or less an imperative in some of the neighborhoods, especially out on the delta.

I spent about five months in Stockton, which is usually towards the top of the list for per-capita violent crimes and numbers of gang members. In the last month I was there, there were three or four shooting fatalities within a mile of my apartment, one of which was law enforcement shooting an alleged criminal. It was certainly an interesting place to live.

As missionaries, everyone is assigned a companion--a sort of buddy system, as it were. Incidentally, I used to think that "partner" was a better word than "companion," but in light of societal attitudes towards clean-cut men living together, I now think that "companion" was an inspired word choice.

While I was in Stockton, there were two Spanish-speaking companionships in the city, and all four of us lived together in one apartment. Missions are organized into districts and zones, and the four of us formed one district, of which I was the leader. Part of my responsibilities were to trade off and spend time working with the other missionaries in the district. I guess this was to make sure they were doing their work and didn't have any problems getting along.

While on one of these exchanges with a missionary who we'll just call "Anderson" (which will keep his real name anonymous, especially since I think fully 1/3 of Mormon missionaries have the last name "Anderson"). Anyway, Anderson was one of the coolest guys I have ever known, even though he wanted to be an FBI agent. In fact, he was so intent on this career path that he made some fake business cards at a mall kiosk with his name, followed by "Federal Bureau of Investigation," and a bogus address in New York.

He made them when he was 17 or so, before he realized that doing so was probably illegal, and put them in his wallet and sort of forgot about them. Until he was a missionary, that is, whereupon he rediscovered them in his wallet and occasionally showed them to other missionaries for a laugh.

Anyway, he and I were out knocking doors one day when we came upon the home of some of these Larry the Cable Guy white people. The reception was downright hostile. We found out that this was because at some point they had been Mormons but for a variety of inane reasons had decided that the church had mistreated them and they weren't going anymore. We talked through some of these concerns and brought things around to the point that they were feeling good and friendly towards the church again, possibly enough to start coming back. We thought.

Before we left, we made the standard missionary offer "is there anything we can help you with?" Turns out they were going to be moving and needed some help with that. We told them they could call us. They looked frantically around the house for something to write our names and numbers on. Not a corner of newspaper, gum wrapper, or napkin could be found. The only piece of paper any of us had was one of Anderson's business cards.

Reluctantly, Anderson wrote our number on the back of one, scribbled out the FBI details on the front, and told them the cards weren't real, and he had made them as a joke. In hindsight, our attire of white shirts, conservative ties, and dark trench coats probably didn't make that claim very convincing. This should have been all the more obvious to us since it was not uncommon for the gang members to scatter (like roaches before light), shouting "5-0, 5-0" when we walked into the 7 eleven parking lot.

A couple of days after leaving our names and numbers, someone called on the telephone asking for Anderson. "He's in the shower," I said. "Can I take a message?"

"This is John Gliani with the FBI, and I need to speak with him." My heart was in my throat. "Who's this?" I told him my name. "Well I need to speak with you, too." I was now trying to figure out who this really was and who put him up to it. "Can I come over right now?" I told him he could and hung up.

I then got out the phone book, looked up the number for the local FBI office, and called it. "Is John Gliani there?"

"Yes, can I tell him who's calling?"

"Nobody's calling. I just wanted to make sure John Gliani really worked there. He called me a minute ago, and I wanted to make sure it wasn't a joke."

"Hang on--he wants to talk to you."

"No, this is not a joke," John said. "You've violated a federal law and are in some serious trouble."

By the time I was finished speaking with Mr. Gliani the second time, Anderson was out of the shower. It was time to get everyone together and talk about what was happening.

Anderson's companion was a guy we'll call Sergei. He doesn't really figure into the story except that he sat at the Kitchen table and just sort of observed everything that went down. My companion was a guy we'll call Duke. He was from South Florida and had a pretty interesting life before finding religion in his early 20's and deciding to go on a mission. He used to tell us stories that made Bo and Luke Duke seem like a couple of pansy choir boys. He and I really got along well, and I'm pretty sure that if it came right down to it, he would have killed with his bare hands anybody that threatened me. He was a former gold gloves fighter and could probably give Kimbo Slice a run for his money.

We knew it was Gliani as soon as the plain vanilla domestic sedan pulled into the parking lot. John Gliani got out of the car and through the windows we watched him walk to our door. He knocked. I opened. I noticed three things: 1. he was as tall as the doorway, and his shoulders were as wide as the doorway--he may have had to turn sideways slightly to enter; 2. there was a large bulge in the armpit of his sports coat; 3. he was holding his badge right in my face. He made the comment (regarding the badge), "just in case you didn't believe me that it was real."

We welcomed Mr. Gliani into the apartment. He said something about impersonating a federal officer, federal offense, how it wasn't up to him but rather the magistrate whether to prosecute (but he HAD to turn in the charges), and a few other things for about ten minutes or so. I really don't remember. I do remember being intimidated and nervous.

As soon as Mr. Gliani closed the door, Duke turns to Anderson and me and says "we coulda taken him."

"What?" I said. "How? Did you not notice the gun? Or how big he was?"

"You could have wrapped up around his shoulders," Duke informed me, "Anderson could have taken the legs, and I would have jumped on his head and scooped his eyeballs out with my thumb. Sergei could have...well Sergei would have just watched."

"What about the gun?" I asked.

"It's hard to aim and fire a gun when your eyeballs are hanging down on your cheeks."

"You mean to tell me the entire time I was sitting in that chair nervous and wondering what kind of trouble I was going to be in, you were just thinking about what you would do if things turned violent?"

"Yeah, pretty much."


Epilogue: John Gliani was totally bluffing. We never heard another word about it. And Anderson, last I heard, was working on some sort of FBI task force on Internet crimes. I'm pretty sure he doesn't read my blog, not that his cover would be blown anyway. This incident apparently didn't come up during his background check.

Two hour rides

Two hours is just about the perfect duration for a bike ride. You don't really need to worry about on-the-bike nutrition. And it's short enough that you can often squeeze in a two hour ride on a work day or between soccer games on Saturday without jeopardizing the to-do list. Just fill a couple of bottles and go.

My favorite two hour road ride in Boise has got to be the Cartwright Loop. It's been out of commission most of the season as the road between Hidden Springs and Pierce Park Rd was widened and regraded. I was worried that the regrading would make it too easy. It's still steep, but not as steep, but the elevation gain is the same, so it's still a challenge. And the new tarmac is lovely.

On the mountain bike, my favorite two hour loop is Rocky Canyon Road to Orchard Gulch, down Five Mile, up Three Bears and down to Shane's, and back to Ft. Boise. Challenging climbs, wicked fun descents, and buff, swooping single track.

Both rides have about 2,000 feet of climbing but not all at once, so the climb never goes on so long that you're looking forward to the end of it, and you can push it pretty hard without blowing up.

The crazy thing is that I had never ridden the Orchard Gulch or Five Mile Gulch trails until this year. Which makes me wonder what else I am missing out on. Plus, now that I'm in Utah five days a week, I need to figure out what to ride here. I'm getting to know the Bonneville Shoreline Trail and its spurs pretty well, because it's close to the office and the ideal destination for lunch rides. But I still really have no idea where I'm going in Corner Canyon and only find my way around there by dumb luck or The Force, not sure which. Other than Millcreek Canyon, I really haven't ridden anywhere else on the Wasatch Front.

Leave a comment and let me know what I'm missing out on. If you don't live in Idaho or Utah, tell me what I should ride if I'm ever visiting your town. As UTRider mentioned, we've got a lovely Indian Summer that's lasting way longer than any of us expected, so may as well take advantage of it.

The best wheel guy in the world

A while ago while riding with Dug, we were talking about bike mechanics and which ones we like and why. I mentioned that I rarely if ever visit mechanics anymore, except to do things that require special tools, like headset presses, or to true wheels (I could true my own wheels, but why?).

In the course of the conversation, I mentioned that the best wheel guy in the world lives in Boise, ID. Dug of course questioned my superlative. It was probably hyperbole, but I can't imagine how someone could be better at truing and fixing wheels. There are undoubtedly others of equal skill, but they are few.

I found out that the best wheel guy in the world, Brian Grieger, passed away in his sleep last night. He will be missed.

Brian was to bikes what the soup nazi was to soup. He was a true master, but it was also on his terms. Brian worked out of his garage, so you didn't just show up, you made an appointment. At the appointed time, you came with your bike, and then you stood there and listened to Brian complain about how bad your poor maintenance had screwed up the bike. Or, if the repair was easy or not really your fault, he would just tell stories until he was done. You were welcome to watch and ask questions, which is the primary reason I don't take my bikes to the shop very often, if at all. But you didn't leave your bike and come back when it was done, because there wasn't room in the garage for that kind of nonsense. When the job was finished, you paid in cash. Flat rate for labor, regardless of the repair, plus the cost of whatever parts you used.

Before he was a mechanic, Brian used to race bikes with people you've probably heard of. People like Tom Ritchey, Gary Fisher, and Bob Roll. Brian would tell you straight up who was cool and who was a jerk. I learned from Brian that Bob Roll spent his entire stipend for a year on a new Ducati and had to couch surf and dumpster dive during the off season when he couldn't get room and board from the team. I think Bob may have mentioned that in one of his books, but I liked hearing Brian's versions of the stories rather than the sanitized version the publisher approved.

Brian's house was along one of my favorite lunch ride routes. His health had been poor for a while, and I hadn't actually been in the garage for more than a year. But each time I passed, I didn't have anything but kind thoughts. If anyone feels the same way about me when I'm gone, I'll think I lived a pretty good life.

Godspeed, Brian.

Zero latency enterprise

When I first started working at Dunder Mifflin several years ago, one of the learning opportunities I took advantage of was a product tour of their Zero Latency Enterprise offering. The concept is pretty simple: if you throw enough computing power and network linkages at all your databases and keep the files in a standard format that is readable from one to another, it's possible for all of them to be constantly up-to-date. For instance, if a customer calls your support line and provides previously unknown information or an update to existing data, that data is instantly fed to the CRM system to more effectively market to the customer, the e-commerce engine to update shipping addresses, and so on down the line such that everything is always in synch.

If you have ever worked in an enterprise-level IT environment, particularly one with multiple legacy systems that aren't used to talking to one another, you know pulling this off is easier said than done. In fact, it's so much easier said than done, that Dunder Mifflin was not even using their own offering. Nearly four years ago, they embarked on a massive project to achieve these capabilities (though I don't think that the true "ZLE" product was part of that plan). My estimate is that project is still at least three years away from completion and even then won't work the way they really want it to.

IT systems weren't the only source of latency in the company. In fact, there was far more in just the day-to-day tasks required to get the work done. Let's say I was working on a project and needed input from five stakeholders in order to complete that particular phase. If all five stakeholders had to be in the meeting together, it typically took between one and three weeks to find a single one hour block where they could all meet together. And I'm not even talking about a live meeting; this was just to get them all on a conference call at once. If the meeting was to be face-to-face, an exceptionally rare occurence, we were talking a good month of lead time. Ironically, lead time for a video conference was often even longer than for a face-to-face meeting.

The other thing that I got really used to was a non-traditional work day. I'm not talking about going for a lunch ride in the middle of the day or starting early and ending early. Instead, I'm referring to an early morning conference call to speak with people in Europe and then on another day, and sometimes even the same day, having a late evening conference call with someone in Singapore. Even if there were no conference call, checking email at 11:00 p.m. was de rigeur in order to facilitate the flow between the Asian working day, the European working day, and having everything ready to go at the beginning of the nominal hours of my working day.

I'm bringing all of this up because a few of you, either in comments or in person, have asked me how the new job is going. Let me summarize:

• There is no Singapore office. Which means no 10:00 p.m. conference calls with Singapore.
• There is a London office, but I think only two people work there, and I'm pretty sure they don't even know I exist yet.
• When I need CEO approval for something, I don't just give up right there because my middle management status doesn't warrant his attention; instead, I walk over to his office and ask him.
• I have scheduled exactly two meetings with co-workers. Turns out that was just because old habits die hard. I should have just walked over to their offices and said "do you have a minute?"
• All of the hardware in the entire company is managed by two people. If I am wondering about how something is configured, I can get a straight answer. I didn't even used to ask these questions, because even if I could find the answer, the complexity of the answer far exceeded the depth of my understanding.
• All of the software in the entire company is managed by another half dozen or so guys. See above.
• I can still go on lunch rides. In fact, there are nearly as many people in this office who will go out on lunch rides as there were in my old company. Except that there were roughly 175 times as many people at my old worksite as there are at this one. And we have our choice among excellent options for both road and mountain biking, whereas before only road riding was an option.

The only real downside to this job compared to my old one:

• Fully 15% of the workforce is named "Mark." Now I know what it would be like to move to Australia and change my name to Bruce.
  

How stupid do you have to be

To be on strike with the global economy in its current state?

Welcome to Utah

I've been in Utah a little under 48 hours. Just enough time to really be welcomed back. It's been about nine years since I lived in Utah, but I've been back to visit often enough that I felt like I was on top of what's gone on in my absence. I was wrong.

I commuted by bike today from my sister's house in Cedar Hills to the end of the Trax line at Sandy City Center. Pedaling through Sandy and Draper took me right past the neighborhood where I grew up and many of the places I would frequent.

Things have changed dramatically. The open fields where we used to shoot BB guns at each other are all now commercial developments. In fact, they're in their second generation. The Wal-Mart that used to be there has been redeveloped into another retail complex. It's campaign season, and I noticed from the signs that my high school principal is running for the state legislature. The site of my high school is now a large office building, and the school down the road that replaced it plays football in a stadium that is nicer than the one San Jose State and I'm sure many other small (from a football perspective) universities play in.

The nostalgia notwithstanding, I really knew I was in Utah after two things happened during the train ride. First, there was a man walking around the station carrying a gun case. Sure, it COULD have been a violin in there, but it's more likely it was a deer rifle. Or an automatic weapon. The amazing part, though? Nobody said a word to him or even acted as if it were out of the ordinary to be walking around the city center with a high-power firearm.

Towards the end of the train ride, five or six kids got on and sat near me. These kids were pretty rough and talked about foster homes and other things that suggested that they'd had a tough go of it so far. When they used some profanity, I thought "at least they're not getting high on the train or mugging the other passengers." No big deal. But one of the other passengers, while exiting (pansy had to wait until they couldn't retaliate), paused to let the kids know that the profanity was unacceptable in a public place, and he would go tell on them if they kept it up.

So let me get this straight: a man, walking around the crowded city center with what appears to be a gun, gathers no attention at all. While some kids, who were not hurting anyone and were frankly quite nice and personable, but used some foul language, deserve a talking to? Welcome to Utah, I guess.

The other welcome to Utah moment is courtesy of my sister, who teaches at Orem Junior High. Today was their red ribbon week drug awareness assembly, which was put on by a local magician. He was incredibly funny and entertaining and had the complete attention of the audience, including my sister, who only attended because she had to. During the presentation, he informed everyone that Ford was coming out with a new vehicle designed specifically for the Utah market. It was something a little more than the Explorer, Expedition, or Excursion, since those vehicles didn't offer quite everything needed in this unique market. The vehicle will be called the "Exaltation" and will have row upon row of seating for up to 12 passengers. Each of the 12 seats will have its own jello holder. Of course, with fuel prices where they are, powering a vehicle that large is certainly a concern. But this one is special and should be just perfect for the intended market because instead of running on gasoline, it runs on guilt.

Today's commute was also the day that it finally happened: I crashed on my road bike. In the thousands of miles that I have ridden on the road, I had never crashed until today. Unless you count the time I was doing a track stand at an intersection and fell over before I could unclip. Anyway, I was riding from the office to the train station, and as I crossed the tracks, thought "be careful not to get your wheel caught in there." Within one second, I was down. Fortunately I wasn't going too fast and just banged up my hip and scraped my hand. I hadn't put my gloves on yet, so my hand felt pretty beat up but somehow didn't get cut. Nice to finally have that out of the way.

Though the crash has nothing to do with it, I also decided that with more darkness than daylight, trying to do a 70 mile round trip commute by bike and train is not the best idea I've ever had. It can be summed up quite succinctly as follows:

Likelihood of something bad happening * consequences of said bad thing > personal and societal benefits of biking to work

I may still take the train, at least from time to time, just because I prefer reading to driving. But since the bike commute starts in the morning while it's still dark and finishes in the evening after it's dark, I think I'll play it safe. Riding through an intersection only to discover after I got through it that there was no pavement on the far side pretty much sealed it for me. That and significantly overdriving my headlight at 20 mph and having an Escalade pass me with four inches of clearance may have also had something to do with it.

Live in concert

Last night I drove five hours or so from my house to Utah so that I could start work this week. iTunes kept me company during the drive, and all I can say is that I love the new genius playlist feature. It puts together mixes better than I ever could--songs I'd never think of putting together but that somehow just go.

The playlist I was listening to, based on "Seven Nation Army," happened to serve up Black Sabbath's "Nativity in Black." Driving to Utah and listening to that song reminded me of an experience when I was attending BYU.

Utah Valley University, a state school just up the road in Orem, had recently built a new events center. As is often the case with a new venue, they sought sponsorship to help them cover the costs. In this case an individual donor contributed enough to earn naming rights, but instead of putting her own name on the building, asked that the contribution remain anonymous and the building be named for former president of the LDS Church, David O. McKay.

President McKay lived a life most would consider above reproach. Filmmaker Cecille B. DeMille recognized McKay as an authority on the scriptures and as such consulted him when making the film "The Ten Commandments," leading to a friendship that lasted until DeMille's death. McKay is probably best known as an advocate of family values, and is often quoted as saying "no other success can compensate for failure in the home."

So imagine my surprise one afternoon when I'm driving down the road listening to the radio, and I hear an advertisement proclaim (in the best husky, heavy metal voice over you can imagine) "Live, from the David O. McKay Special Events Center, OZZY OSBOURNE!"