The real reason we went to Santa Barbara, Solvang, Ojai, Santa Clarita, and Long Beach last week was for the BICYCLING!

Here is one of the best blogs with photos I’ve found yet on all the Amgen Tour of California action. The saddest news to come out of the race is that two of my favorite racers, Utah’s Dave Zabriskie (riding for CSC) and Big George Hincapie (still riding for Discovery Channel) got hurt. Zabriskie was DQ’d with a concussion after crashing on a mountain road landing during the first stage. Hincapie broke his arm but managed to ride hurt through most of Stage 6. He’ll be recovering for six to eight weeks.

And naturally, Levi Leipheimer was a total stud. I always take pride in the fact that I am no star sniffer. I have no inclination, ever, to hover around the streets of Park City for the annual Sundance Film Festival snooping for stars or wannabes. Yet put me within a few hundred years of these lean and lightning fast pro cyclists and I go all liquid.

Case in point: We’re driving on Interstate 5 late Saturday afternoon. The road is jammed. And what are the chances we would drive right up behind a little Mazda sedan with four Trek racing bikes perched on top and the Discovery Channel logo plastered all over the car with the number 1 on the rear window?

“Is that him?” “Is that Levi?” we’re pretty much shrieking from inside our sensible rented mini van while trying to catch up to the car. Ted is the first to see the man’s shaved head and svelte profile and confirms it: “THAT’S LEIPHEIMER IN THE FRONT SEAT!”

He manages to zip up to the right side of the Mazda. We suddenly go all ape like a bunch of teenage girls watching the Beetles enter Shea Stadium 40 years ago. Except we have two men in the car, too. They were just as bad as any squealing female, believe me.

And that was my brush with fame.

I have been to California approximately 317 times in my lifetime (give or take a dozen trips). My friends and relatives live up and down the state — from Sacramento to San Francisco to Orange County to San Diego. And also some creepy little inland desert towns you don’t even want to know about (Cue the “Deliverance” banjos now).

So why is it whenever I visit CA., as Ted and I did for the last five days, I morph into a complete rube when I get there?

I’m telling you, it’s like this dream place where I expect Glinda the Good Witch of the North to come floating along in a giant Ivory Soap bubble.

First, there is the growing season. And the green. Every shade of green: Kelly, chartreuse, pine, Granny Smith, olive. Green all the time. Did I mention flowers? Everything is in bloom. The impatiens and begonias I grow in Utah look like salesman’s samples of the technicolor giants that flourish in California gardens. Even the freeway medians are wildly blooming. I can’t keep from gawking and gasping at the sights.

Here I am, standing in a field in Solvang, California. It’s nothing spectacular. But it’s green. And the sky is blue. I love it.

Next, I must mention the liquor scene. Walking into any Ralph’s, Von’s or Albertson’s supermarket, I immediately submit to the magnetic force of the wine department, pulling me in its direction. My eyes swell to seven times their normal size. I grab whomever I’m with by the sleeve, insisting he or she follow me over to the massive display of Napa or Russian River wines. Oh, and those Santa Barbara pinots? Wow. Look over here, Ted! Just like “Sideways!”

Of course, this is all due to my Utah upbringing and the fact that I’ve survived my adult years as a victim of the Utah liquor store phenomenon. When I visit any state with sane liquor laws I shift into instant hayseed mode. It’s unbelievable one can walk into a store, grab a chilled bottle of white on the way to a dinner party and be through the whole experience in under 11 minutes.

Guess what else? In California, you can even buy a corkscrew or a couple of limes in the liquor store! And cold beer, too. How exotic.

So nice to make a purchase without feeling like I’m standing in line for bread and potatoes under the old Soviet Union market system.

So, the trip was great, especially for this hick.

As I mentioned late last week, the real reason we went to CA. was for the final stages of the Amgen Tour of California bicycle race. Ted is the executive director of The Tour of Utah race. We traveled with several of his erstwhile staff members — volunteer directors, fundraisers and sponsorship directors, as well as a couple of members of the Utah Sports Commission.

Here are two of those travel companions: Michael Spencer, left, with Karen Kaull Weiss. Michael is a former U.S. Olympic moguls skier and attorney specializing in professional sports issues. Karen is Ted’s right hand in the Tour of Utah and an event planner by profession. Both are great fun.

Besides shooting bad photos, all I had to do for five days was wander around, gawk at wine displays, and look at gorgeous hard bodies on racing bikes. Then it was home again, where I am happy to be. It’s snowing like hell right now, it’s lovely, and it’s home.

The Deseret Morning News is reporting this morning on Chris Cannon’s latest bout with diarrhea of the mouth.

Oh, what thoughtful constituents would give for a new version of that chalky old stomach soother Kaopectate — one that would apply directly to our senior GOP congressman’s pie hole.

For Third District Rep. Cannon to make any claim that Trolley Square gunman Sulejman Talovic was shouting “Allah Akbar” as he shot his way through the mall on February 12 goes beyond any humanity or reason. First, Cannon has not a whit of proof for his claim — beyond FOX News reports and hate speech by a few talk radio hosts. Salt Lake Police investigators, based on testimony by cops and firefighters at the scene that night, have been unanimous in their reports that Talovic shouted nothing of a religious or terroristic nature during his murderous rampage.

Unless you count the F-word, I suppose. Talovic reportedly used it freely that night. But if that counts as terroristic speech, we’d have to come down pretty hard on Utah Jazz Coach Jerry Sloan after every foul he contests now wouldn’t we?

Cannon has retracted his comments, made during a free-wheeling interview with KSL radio talk show host Doug Wright yesterday. (I listened to much of it while driving, but turned it off when Cannon started going all bongo-bongo about his colleagues who won’t back Prez Bush’s troop “surge.”)

Why should we let him have a mulligan? It isn’t the first time his brain and mouth have short-circuited.

Readers with a good memory will recall Cannon’s crazed comments last year as the Mark Foley scandal unfolded in Congress. Foley got caught sending creepy, sexual e-mails to underage male pages. Cannon blamed parents and the teens themselves for much of the problem. Said that moms and dads ought to monitor their kids better. Sort of a new take on the old argument that a female rape victim somehow invites an attack.

A bit of hell broke out back then. And now this. While this city is healing, while Trolley shooting victims have barely been buried, while Talovic’s grieving parents must live with never knowing what set off their son, Cannon lets his big mouth run wild with zero proof of the boy’s political or social background.

One thing we do know right now: As my friend and new Salt Lake Tribune metro columnist Rebecca Walsh wrote least week, Talovic is a cypher.
He went to work each day, he grunted a few words to his dad in the hallway the morning of the attack. He had few friends. Other than that, the 18-year-old, so far is a mystery.

Except that he and his family are Muslim. And you know what that means to people intent on spending every minute on earth in fear and suspicion: Instant terrorist.

This is what happens when a politician lives in a totally safe district. Democrat or Republican. See, I’m an equal opportunity critic of politicians who live so safely and smugly they never have to watch their regularly re-elected backsides. This holds true for Cannon, who can besmirch a whole segment of the population (parents, Muslims) and never have to answer when Election Day rolls around.

Unless, of course, voters in Utah County actually believe his absurd claims. That’s the fright of it all, now isn’t it?

Late Thursday afternoon, Ted and I will board a plane to Santa Barbara, California. We are joining about a half-dozen others involved with the Tour of Utah road bicycle race. We’re going to watch the final segments of the Tour of California race. We are gathering intelligence. My husband Ted is executive director of the Tour of Utah bike race, scheduled to take place in Utah during the last week of June.

Oh, don’t worry. It isn’t a junket. The Tour of Utah is paying our way, fully.

Mostly, I am going to soak up the sun, taste the wine made famous in the film “Sideways” and support the man I love. We’ll start in Santa Barbara and Solvang and end up somewhere near Long Beach. I’m a good soldier. I’m just going to do what they tell me. I’ll yell and cheer a lot for the bike racers (though sadly, our native son Dave Zabriskie dropped out after getting hurt during a course pile-up crash two days ago), but I’m truly going because I want to chill with my best friend/husband and to support him. I hope I can send some mojo Ted’s way to help all go well for the Tour of Utah. Getting it going and supported here in Utah is a considerable challenge.

This is how it works when you truly love someone. We give to each other and we get in return. See, I didn’t have much of this in previous marriage/relationships. Perhaps I was too proud to give up a piece of myself — didn’t want to look weak and insignificant, you know. Well no more. Ted and I support each other; we give where needed and revel in that, really. I’m old enough, wise enough to know that offering up my best self to another really matters. If four days in California comes with that sacrifice, well who am I to argue?!

I’ll probably file some blog entries from California. I’m taking my laptop. I’ll try to log some photos, too. Please check the blog. I won’t give up if you don’t.

Time: 7:21 a.m. today.

Place: The intersection of 300 West and 200 South, one block east of The Road Home shelter, downtown Salt Lake City.

Scene: Sun just risen, stands of pink stretching across the sky. Fiftysomething man, shaggy gray beard, dirty ski cap pulled down to his eyelids, wrapped in filthy huge parka, ill-fitting shoes. In each hand, a plastic Albertson’s grocery bag, both stuffed beyond their utility. He enters the crosswalk, with the light, takes two steps. Suddenly, one of the bags breaks open. Out falls a plastic Maverik coffee mug, a pair of gloves, and assorted scraps of paper that start tumbling off in the breeze. Most certainly, it’s half of everything this man owns.

I’m behind the wheel of my car, watching. As soon as the light turns green, I think, I’ll go through the intersection, pull over, get out and help him.

Then, this: A woman crossing from the other direction scrambles after a piece of paper blowing along the asphalt. She’s dressed for work — not fancy, but sensibly, in jeans and warm jacket. She walks up to the man, touches his elbow, then bends over and scoops up the broken bag and its contents.

The light changes. I tap the gas pedal. I keep my eyes on the rear-view mirror, watching the pair for as long as I can. Last I see them, the woman is helping the man rearrange the contents of his remaining bag.

A lovely morning here in Big Utah. I wish the same for you, wherever you are.

Utah Senate Majority Leader Curtis Bramble has called for a legislative audit to determine where state funding for smaller classrooms is going. The Provo Republican and CPA wants accountability. He’s not happy with the knowledge that in spite of several legislative efforts to funnel more money toward this goal, classrooms really aren’t getting much smaller.

Oh, this is so duh. I mean, double duh.

Good lord, Curt, do the math. Here’s the way the problem might look in a standard fourth-grade textbook:

Huge Utah families + no desire to curb family size + no extra taxes levied against huge families for their strain on the school system = WAY BIG CLASSROOMS.

Is that so hard? The kids keep on coming. The money needs to keep coming, too. For this, you need a legislative audit?

You people are making us nuts.

Wham.

That was the sound of reality smacking me upside the head.

I must get a job.

Not just a fun little keyboard-tapping blogging job. Though let it be noted that I have made a whopping $16.53 from Google since starting mullentown in mid-January.

Since leaving my paying job exactly two months ago, I’ve become a well-loved and deeply appreciated full-time wife/mom/housekeeper/dog walker/cook. I’ve had more fun than I could imagine paging through Cooking Light magazines and the new 75th anniversary edition of “Joy of Cooking.” BTW, the French onion soup I made last week has no equal — at least in this earthly realm.

But I need a paycheck. And benefits. And another crack at building up my 401K if I’m to spend my golden years anywhere but sleeping on top of a grated steam vent in some downtown alley.

You might ask what brought on all this soul searching. Uh, well, it was a little yearly ritual called Tax Time. Ted spent his entire President’s Day holiday holed up in his home office digging up e-receipts, little scraps of paper, and calling for a tourniquet to stanch our hemorrhaging spending. To be completely fair, he included himself.

You see, the day started with taxes and evolved into budgeting. A real Come to Jesus session.

Oooh baby, there’s nothing I like better than pulling tax info together. The door to Ted’s office is our home’s demilitarized zone — at least until he gets everything neatly packaged and off to the CPA. I tiptoed up the stairs and kissed him on the cheek a couple of times. But preoccupied as he was, I think it must have felt like a mosquito buzzing his head.

It’s occurred to me that NEXT TAX YEAR will be my time to shine. If I spend the first quarter of 2007 gainfully unemployed, I won’t have any income to claim.

Meanwhile, it’s off to work I go. See, because I could get nicely accustomed to whipping up delicious meals and watching birds cavort in the trees outside my kitchen window. But neither activity will pay anyone’s college tuition, will it?

Working-stiff existence, here I come.

Cartoon by Dave Walker. Find more cartoons you can freely re-use on your blog at We Blog Cartoons.

Warning all! This is a cliche alert:

I’m sorry, but I can’t resist using this hackneyed, overused image. GOP Republican presidential candidate and Utah hero Mitt Romney is the “Where’s Waldo” of the 2008 election.

(I’ve never fallen back on this particular cliche in any of my writing, so I’m allowing myself to use it this once.)

Seriously, Romney keeps popping up here, then there. You turn the page and there he is again, trying to hide among the masses he once played to on social issues like abortion, gay rights, and gun control. But in just the last six months Romney’s philosophies and positions have shifted so wildly you just don’t know where the guy will turn up next. Flip the page, and you’ll see him tap dancing for fundamental Christians, whose support he badly needs if he’s to come out of the 2008 pack alive.

Let’s see. Of late, Romney has turned solidly anti-abortion, even though he catered to moderates and liberals in both parties in getting elected as Massachusets governor in 2002. Back then, he invoked his own mother’s position on female autonomy in family planning. Women have a right to choose, he said. Now he’s changed his mind. Romney says he arrived at his new pro-life position after learning more about the moral implications of cloning. That process has shown him the value of all human life, which means he can no longer honor a pro-choice position.

And now, we have the latest flip-flop: Gun rights. Romney has recently been ga-ga about guns, but had to acknowledge on Sunday he only joined the National Rife Association last August. Twelve years ago, when running for he U.S. Senate against Ted Kennedy, Romney advocated gun control, including a five-day waiting period for weapons sales and a ban on certain assault rifles.

Oops! There he is again, trying to find a place to fit in.

You can read more on the record of Mitt/Waldo here. The Massachusetts media has been tougher on Romney than their Utah counterparts. Part of that is due to big, metro media markets. Politics, and by extension, political coverage, are no games for wimps. There’s no call to be nice and understanding as you often see in Utah press coverage. Basically, it’s like this: If you want to run with the wolves, you can’t pee with the puppies.

And speaking of being nice about Romney, and tolerant of his Mormonism, his battle with the unbendable right-wing evangelical Christian movement in this country is just beginning. Most people in Utah don’t seem to understand this. On radio talk shows, in opinion pieces and letters on newspaper editorial pages, the population here keeps scratching its head wondering why the anti-Romney, anti-Mormon forces can’t just tolerate his differences. You know, live and let live.

If you are part of that camp (and don’t most people like to think of themselves as tolerant of others’ views?), I highly recommend you read this new book: “American Fascists: The Christian Right and the War on America” by Chris Hedges.

Hedges earned a degree from Harvard Divinity School and was a foreign correspondent for The New York Times for two decades.

Hedges’ thesis: That “Christian fascists” are determined to fulfill a widely stated goal of 25 years ago to use mainstream religious denominations, the media and the U.S. government to build a global Christian empire.

In their simple view, Mormons are not Christian. Mormons have not been “saved” by accepting Jesus as their lord, nor do Mormons see this very public act as a required tenet of their faith. Mormons, indeed, have “testimonies” of Christ and share their faith-promoting stories regularly with fellow believers. It’s similar to the “witnessing” of evangelicals, but not nearly the same. Having lived in Southern Baptist-saturated Texas for six years, I can attest to this fact: No amount of spinning and changing and evolving by Romney will budge the fundamental Christians on this issue.

Hedges’ research on this topic is fascinating. There are now, he writes, at least 70 million evangelicals in the U.S., which is about one-quarter of the population. They attend more tha 200,000 evangelical churches. Hedges’ particular focus is on a branch of evangelism knows as “dominionism,” which “seeks to redefine traditional democratic and Christian terms and concepts to fit an ideology that calls on the radical church to take political power.”

Dominionists (they take their name from the Book of Genesis reference in which God gives man “dominion” over all creation) are relatively small in number but growing in power. They control at least six national TV networks, Hedges writes, and nearly all of the country’s 2,000 religious radio stations. They also have taken over the Southern Baptist Convention.

Read the book. It’s downright chilling. If you embrace the historic pluralism of this nation, if you see value in accepting others regardless of their beliefs, if you are downright confused as to why born-again Christians can’t tolerate Romney, this book is for you.

It may help explain why Romney can play all the Waldo he wants, but with this particular — and deeply misguided — religious minority, he’s going nowhere.

A blue-sky day in the city. Ted and I decided to celebrate on two wheels. We hopped on his Suzuki SV 650 and went for a scoot. Did I mention it was 50 degrees at 3 p.m.? A regular scorcher, I tell you.

This is a fun, fast bike. It isn’t built for touring, so speaking as the one who rides on back, a short day ride is about all my butt can take.

We had a couple of items on our agenda. The first was to drop a donation at the home of Suljo and Sabira Talovic, the parents of Suljeman Talovic. For several days now, news stories have listed a growing number of funds for the families of the victims of the Trolley Square shootings. But unless I missed something, I haven’t seen anything formally established for the family of the shooter.

The Talovics want to take their son’s body back to Bosnia next week for burial. We wanted to do our small part to help them do so. We rode to their home in northwest Salt Lake City, where a woman was walking away from the yard after leaving a bag of groceries. Ted asked if she was with the family. She told us no, that her daughters attend school with the Talovics’ younger children. She also said the family has left the house and is staying elsewhere for now.

Ted walked up the porch steps with our envelope and tucked it away among a heap of other donations. A mylar balloon with a giant red heart and the words “I Love You” was tied to a basket of groceries and bobbed in the wind. There were perhaps a half-dozen floral bouquets. There was a boxed set of white Corelle dishes. And a Costco-sized bottle of liquid laundry detergent.

Salt Lake City hasn’t forgotten about this family, also hurt and shattered. We were grateful to see that. This is a sign of Big Utah. The place I know to be generous in times that really test us. The place I love.

We rode off and decided to take in a late afternoon movie. We saw “Pan’s Labrynth.” We may be the last people on Earth to have seen it. If I’m wrong about that, and you haven’t seen it, go. It’s stellar.

No one yet in the media has offered the possibility that Trolley Square shooter Sulejman Talovic might have suffered a schizophrenic outburst of some sort on Monday night.

I’m not trying to be flip or funny. I mean it.

It’s possible that Talovic’s loner personality and brooding countenance could have everything to do with a serious mental illness taking hold in his mind and body. Schizophrenia, for instance, often shows up in victims in their late teens or early 20s. Parents who have known this cruel disease in their children will often say they had no outward signs until the first real behavorial meltdown occurred.

If the Trolley Square massacre doesn’t scream out “mental meltdown,” I don’t know what qualifies.

I’m not any abnormal psychology expert. But I’ve certainly battled depression and anxiety with the help of a doctor’s care, talk therapy, plenty of exercise, and prescription meds. My mother’s side of the family is plumb-full of chronic depression. Some of them have had the good sense to get help; others, well, I’ll just say they’re still struggling.

We will never know what demons spoke to Talovic the night he sprayed Trolley Square with buckshot and took out five good people in the process. I’m just thinking the psychotic epidsode or complete breakdown explanation makes as much sense as any. For me anyway, it seems to explain the random nature of it all, the cold and determined brutality.

It’s also possible that Talovic’s parents — with limited income and with their own challenges as Bosnian refugees of adapting to a whole new culture, finding work, helping their four kids adjust — simply did not see or understand warning signs of mental illness in their oldest child.

My thoughts are just that: Mine. Any mental condition this killer suffered will never fully explain or excuse what happened. But it does give pause. And it does make me think how limited we are in recognizing, understanding, and accepting mental illness.