Riding to Vacaville

Stu and I have been talking on and off about doing a ride to Vacaville while this fall weather is still with us, and I don't think we could have picked a better day than today. It was still a bit chilly when we started off around 9:30, but we hadn't gone 5 miles before I was stripping off the knee- and arm-warmers, and even the vest on the return trip.

We've had no real rainstorms to speak of so far, so the trees still have most of their fall color—the brilliant yellow of the walnut, the orange and red of the Chinese pistache, and the garnet of the ginkos, arrayed against the greens of olive and valley oak. Coming back into Winters along Pleasants Valley Road, the sun slanting into a grove of mature walnut trees made me think of light streaming through a cathedral window, filling the space with gold.

Bonus points: a 36-mile ride banked against tomorrow's highly likely overindulgence in mass quantities of food.

Cy x 2 x 2

The Giants' starter Tim Lincecum won his second Cy Young award in as many years this past week, a historic achievement—never before in the 54-year history of the award has a pitcher won back-to-back Cy Youngs in his first two full seasons in the majors. He's also only the fourth National League pitcher to have won in back-to-back years. The first to do so was Sandy Koufax, back in the 1965 and 1966 seasons.

I was lucky enough to get to see Sandy Koufax pitch a few times at Dodger Stadium. Like Timmy, Koufax combined power, athleticism, and huge talent in equal measures, making him one of the most exceptional pitchers ever to play the game. Koufax and Lincecum couldn't be more different as men and even as ballplayers, but they share that ineffable, undefinable but unmistakable "something"—electricity, charisma, a compelling presence—whatever it is, I'm on board with it.

So here's to you, Timmy. Congratulations—you are in august company, right where you belong.

P.S. Don't cut your hair!

Better than sliced bread

I like ice cream. A lot. I especially like good ice cream, by which I mean the kind made with a whole lotta cream and other tasty globules of fat-type ingredients. Why eat the stuff, I say, unless there's that yummy, rich, creamy texture sliding from spoon to mouth, full of the flavor of chocolate, or coffee, or dulce de leche, or caramel?

But because its blessings are also its curse, I don't often buy the stuff. A pint of Haagen-Dazs dulce de leche in my freezer can disappear faster than those funds you invested with Bernie Madoff. So imagine my oh-boy-oh-boy joy when I spotted these teensy-weensy half-cup cartons of Haagen-Dazs in the freezer at the new Target. Portion control! Exactly the right size! And in my favorite flavors to be mixed and matched! So much better than buying a whole pint of just one flavor.

I'm sure there are people out there working on a better mousetrap, but until they find it, half-cup cartons of Haagen-Dazs will do.

Packaging perfection

Saturday walk

Took a walk in the Arboretum this morning and did the entire loop, east to west and back again. Yesterday's rain must have washed everything clean, because it was a beautiful fall day—bright blue sky, plants and trees sparkly, ducks' backs glistening. Thought about taking my camera but didn't want to be burdened with any accoutrements so left it at home. So the images are in my head, and you can get some of your own if you go there, yourself.

I hadn't done the whole Arbo distance in a while, and my cranky right hip is definitely grouchier tonight, but I don't care, it was worth it. Tylenol is my friend.

The 2009 baseball season ended last night, Yankees 7, Phillies 3. Two great teams, six skillfully played games. Personally, I was pulling for the Phillies, the National League in my book being the league that plays real baseball, but props to the Yankees for fielding a team chock-a-block with supremely talented ballplayers. Yes, they're paid well, but they still have to play well. The money didn't create their greatness, it only enables them to play with others of their ilk. A harrumph on my part, though, re the Series MVP going to Matsui, the Yankees' designated hitter. Please. The most valuable player should be a guy who does more than swing a bat. He should be out there turning a brilliant double play, or making a diving catch of a vicious line drive in left-center field, or being the most dazzling and feared closer in modern baseball history. The MVP to the DH? Bah!

Bottom line, though, baseball is over for this year. More than any previous season, this one, for me, was a whole lotta fun. I went to 10 Giants' games, I listened to or watched all the others, and rediscovered the complexity, the passion, the joy of baseball. Yes, it's flawed, but so is the world, so am I. And flawed though it may be, there's a whole lot to be said for nine innings, 27 outs, the hit and run, the sacrifice fly, the stolen base, the unhittable curveball and the Big Fly. What will I do this winter? Read some baseball books, try once again to learn exactly what the waiver, Rule 5, and the option are all about, and watch Bull Durham again. And again.

Pitchers and catchers report to Spring Training right around my birthday, the rest of the players a week or so after that. I have my hotel room booked and my plane ticket purchased. Hey, it's already November—spring is right around the corner.

You're never alone at a ball game.

The largest thing I've learned is the enormous grip that this game has on people, the extent to which it really is very important. It goes way down deep. It really does bind together.
—Bart Giamatti