Adjusting to Multifocal Contact Lenses

 I've been scouring the internet is search of essays and or practical advice on getting used to multifocal contact lenses.  I have only had mine for a week, so maybe I'm still in the adjustment period, but right now I would say they are somewhat good, but mostly awful.  Everything up to about fifteen or twenty feet away is much better than the mono-vision prescription I've been using for several years, but everything beyond that feels like I'm walking around with a very bad astigmatism.  The stars are a blur.  The moon looks like a three-moon Venn diagram.  I can't read street signs until I'm close to them, and even then they are blurry. I can't recognize the people in the lobby outside my office.

I want to find an essay that would reassure me that those affects are only temporary, and even if it's not going to be the same crystal clarity as a good pair of glasses, I will, at the very least, only see one object in the distance.  I also want to know how long to give it.

Much of my frustration begins with the optometrist.  I have only been to one optometrist that actually discussed vision with me and discussed what I wanted to do.  Dr. Samuel Berne is a behavioral optometrist. He wrote a book called Creating Your Personal Vision: A Mind-Body Guide for Better Eyesight, which I read years ago.  I read it after reading a similar book, Take Off Your Glasses and See by Jacob Liberman.  I firmly believe you can improve your eyesight, but I've never been able to get very far.  Appointments with Dr. Berne were expensive, and I had two small children at home at the time, so the amount of time I could devote to eye exercises was small.  Interruptions were frequent.  Dr. Berne also had a lot of other components to his overall treatment plan, and it all just seemed a little too much for a busy person.  (Although I would say that taking time to take care of myself is an ongoing issue.) He is currently offering a set of online classes, including a consultation, for $1900 or so.  I'm tempted and no longer have small children, but I cannot promise myself that I would take the time to do the work.

All the other optometrists I've seen have seemed welded to their autorefractors.  Visits are far too fast to actually discuss vision and vision options.  For the visit leading up to the multifocal contacts, I decided to switch eye doctors because the last one I've been seeing always seemed so rushed.  My mono-vision prescription has been irritating me, particularly when I'm trying to read the newspaper.  I also bicycle to work, and by the time I arrive at work, the top part of my glasses has been smeared by my wild eyebrows.  For reasons no optometrist has ever thought to explain, they prescribe a reading lens for the non-dominant eye, and I think my brain can read OK with that eye, but I also feel it struggling with the relative blank spot in front of the dominant eye.  I have used progressive glasses in the past, but they drove me crazy as well - descending stairs, descending steep trails or down climbing cliffs - that area of blur when looking down was disorienting.

So I thought I would ask about multi-focals.  And I wanted to have a glasses prescription with a weaker prescription for the right (dominant) eye.  I found I could read better with older pairs of glasses that were not as strong.  I also thought that a good discussion would included more discussion about weakening the prescription.  How weak is too weak?  What distance vision is acceptable?  Would a weaker monovision prescription allow a better visual navigation of the world than a set of multifocal contacts? Should I give bifocals a try?  Should I go for a pair of distance glasses and a pair of reading glasses?  What, when you are a middle-aged nearsighted may with a little bit of presbyopia, should you really do?  Granted, I'm ready for a long discussion.  Maybe it's asking too much to expect an optometrist to take the time.

So, I thought I would switch optometrists and go to one highly rated on the internet.  He was as rushed as my former one.  I went in determined to make clear what I wanted, but it felt like he was trained not to allow the patient to interrupt.  I told him I was interested in multi-focal contact lenses, and rather than discuss them with me, he simply prescribed them.  I did get a weaker mono-vision prescription for glasses from him.  That prescription works very well.  I do have to say that I like having the close binocular vision the contacts provide.

But the foggy distance is driving me batty.  I feel like it is largely due to the multi-focal quality of the lens.  But is it?  Is my brain just not adjusting properly?  Or is there something else going on that I do not understand?  When I did my follow-up appointment, they insisted it was just because the left contact was not strong enough, and they have prescribed a stronger lens that will get here next week, for me to try.  I don't believe that's it.  I can't see distance when I am only looking out of my right eye.  How long should I give it?  What's the level of compromise with multi-focals?  I wish I could find a few essays like this one, albeit with a happy ending, on the internet.  Is the fact most of the information on the internet is for eye doctors indicative that they just don't work that well?  And if so, why aren't there multiple blog posts about how bad they are?

I'll give it a good try, and I'll give the represcribed ones a good try, and in the meantime, I'll try to find an optometrist who actually likes to talk about vision and what can be done with it.

Living without a Cell Phone

Ok, I'll admit it.  At this point I still have a cell phone, but I have not been carrying it.  It's a Google Fi phone, which has the remarkable feature of a "Pause Service" button, and I often pause it.  Why not save money when you can?

I'll never be able to write one of those best-selling books about giving things up, because they all seem to begin with tales of serious, very serious, addiction.  We lived for eight years without owning a car, when our children were small, and I kept a now defunct blog about it, but whenever I looked into carfree living as a serious writing topic, all the published books seemed to be about people in debt up to their noses, driving $40,000 cars to jobs that were two-and-a-half hours away.  We had an old Saab that didn't really work that well, and we didn't really drive that much, so we sold it.  It's more fun to bicycle, period.  When our children made it to middle school, and lucked into a charter school six miles out of town - opposite the direction of our workplace - we bought a car.  I still prefer to live without it.

The cell phone is sort of the same story.  I'm definitely Luddite-leaning.  I never wanted to buy a cell phone.  When they first started hitting the shelf, I thought it would be a trend that couldn't possibly last.  Getting phone calls at home is annoying enough!  Who would want to carry a phone around with them!?  I bought one, or rather I got a free one from the grocery store with a month by month plan, one day because pay phones were disappearing.  I had a flat tire on my bicycle and wanted to let my wife know that I'd be walking the bike home.  I walked over to the pay phone only to find an odd scene of carnage - wires literally sticking out of the wall.  So, I wandered over to the next pay phone and found the same scene repeated.  It took me a half hour of walking around before I found a phone.  That was around 2006 or so.  All those scenes of pay phone violence have healed over, the walls as smooth as if the phones were never there.  The disappearance of pay phones feels like an irremediable loss of public infrastructure, but I can harbor no feeling that protesting the situation will do any good at all.

I have found that the problem with a cell phone - for emergencies - is that it has to be paid for, even if you are not using it.  The same cannot be said for a pay phone.  Even the pay-as-you-go phones, such as the one I began with, had to have the plan renewed every three months or so, for reasons that I have never discovered.  I can go months without needing to call someone.

I think what made the smart phone attractive was the fact you could do other things with it.  While you're paying for it anyway, if you're not going to be making phone calls, why not play a game, balance your budget, time your meditations, take pictures of your food?  You might as well.  Why not?

But it does not sit easily with me.  I'm only vaguely concerned with my privacy, but occasionally, all the data mining feels creepy.  I didn't need to do any of those things in my twenties, why do I suddenly need to do them in my forties, (and alas, now also my fifties)?  I find myself scrolling through my Google News Feed while I'm cooking dinner.  Would I be doing something better if I were not doing that?  No, admittedly not.  Would I be boiling water with more skill and attention?  More attention, maybe, but boiling water has nothing to do with me after I turn the burner on.

Still, it seems that something has been lost.  And perhaps that doesn't irk me as much as the feeling that my attention is being manipulated does.  So I pause the service on my phone, turn it off, and stick it into a drawer.  Sometimes I take it out to play podcasts, (usually Dan Harris's "10% Happier"), and sometimes I sync up my financial app as a way of backing it up, though I'm trying to get back to my USB connected floppy drive.  But mostly, it sits in a drawer.

At this point, I really cannot say if I am better off for (mostly) living without a cell phone.  I certainly don't feel worse off, and I feel better about myself and how I relate to the time I have during the day.  My children email me or call on the landline if they need anything.  My daughter, who is away at college, writes an occasional letter.  I believe I like this life, and I am living the way I want to, following my own random way, rather than the algorithms of my cell phone apps'.

Bicycling, Bicycle Quarterly, and Ever Present Bicycle Questions

I created the Luminous Duck and then all but abandoned it.  In fact, after the Carfree Family blog, I pretty much abandoned blogging altogether.  (Although I do wish I had not deleted my Google account that included the Carfree Family blog, in one of my occasional fits of trying to disentangle myself from the digital world.  Someone else has control of that domain now.)

Our children, which I so dutifully hauled around in a bicycle trailer in the beginning, until their fights in the trailer became unbearable, and then on a Bike Friday Family Triple, have all but grown up, and my daughter will be heading to college after this coming academic year.  I thought all those people who told me that it goes by sooo fast were crazy, yet here I am.  It does go by sooo fast.

Consequently, I suddenly find that I can just, you know, go out and ride my bicycle.  I have always dreamed of riding long distances, and now, I can do that without thinking that I have abandoned my children.

When the kids were younger, I was riding around with them all day.  It just didn't occur to me to go off on a ride on my own at the end of the day.  I was tired.  I wanted to collapse with a glass of wine.  I was the at-home-dad for twelve years, and we were carfree for eight of those years.  Given the load I was hauling around on a daily basis, it's almost as if I were on a twelve year bicycle tour without ever leaving my city.  Once the kids were well established in school, and I started working again, it was simply a marvel to be on a bike by myself and to commute to work.

During all of that time, I continued, (except for a brief hiatus when, during a bout of frugality, I did not renew my subscription), to read Bicycle Quarterly and dream of riding in Paris Brest Paris, or even cruising through the night through New Mexico - well, actually, every time I thought about that, our drunk driving rate sprang to mind.

The web of incidents and associations always boggles my mind.  Here's how I arrived at my knowledge of randonneuring and brevet riding.  I had always ridden bicycles, but I did not think much about them.  Around 1998, my old Cannondale mountain bike was experiencing mechanical trouble, something with the derailleurs if I remember correctly, and the local bike shops all said they couldn't get those parts any more, and I should just buy a new bike.  "Aluminum fatigues," they said.  "It's probably not safe to ride that thing around any more."

I had, in my possession, a copy of Eugene Sloane's The Complete Book of Bicycling.  In it, he talks at great length about his Alex Singer.  Looking at that bike, I knew the kind of bike I wanted.  When my wife bought a new bike, I thought, "I should get a new bike as well.  I have not had a new bike in a very long time."  And so, armed with visions of an Alex Singer in my head, and the intention to buy a new bike, I headed off to the local bike shop.

It should have come as no surprise that there was nary an Alex Singer to be found.  At the very end of the nineties, there were mountain bikes and there were racing bikes.  I knew I didn't want a mountain bike, and I knew I didn't want a racing bike.  The owner of the store steered me over to the lone Cannondale hybrid.  I knew I did not want a hybrid either, but what else was there?  At that point, I had not yet begun using the internet with any sort of regularity, and it did not occur to me to look for bikes online.  I bought the hybrid but immediately regretted it.  I tried to take it back the next day, but the owner said "no returns."  He would not even let me have it in his shop on consignment.  There followed a long series of bad experiences both with the bike and with the shop, which I will not go into here.  The shop is still in business, and many people like them.  My experience, however, was terrible.  I was looking for a different type of shop that sold a different type of bicycle.

Soon thereafter, I did look into the internet for information on bicycle touring and commuting.  On a website that now seems to defunct, I found a reference to Rivendell Bicycle Works.  Being a Tolkien fan, I checked them out.  They seemed to be building the kind of bike I had been looking for.  I ordered a custom bicycle from them thinking it would be the last bike I ever bought.  Who would need anything more?

After ordering the bike, I also subscribed to their in-house magazine, The Rivendell Reader, which occasionally featured a piece by Jan Heine on old French constructeur bicycles.  There was my fantasy Alex Singer; there was Rene Herse!  Jan went on to start writing the Bicycle Quarterly.

The Rivendell was a fine and beautiful bike, but here were more things to consider: low trail geometry, bikes with no toe clip overlap, lighter tubing, wider tires.  Each issue would have some beautiful old bike, and some beautiful new bike.  The fantasy, of course, is that I would find a fine old Rene Herse at Goodwill for $15.  What makes it worse is that I know a guy who did find an old French bicycle from a constructeur that Jan hadn't heard of - but a simply beautiful, lightweight, elegant bike - and he talked Goodwill down to $15 because of the flat tires.  On the other hand, the newer bikes were expensive, and I had, in living memory, spent far too much for my means on a custom bicycle.

It may have ended there, but this spring I found a used 1984 Trek 520.  I bought it simply because I wanted to see if it "planed" with its thinner, smaller diameter tubing.  It does seem to be a faster, more nimble bicycle than the Rivendell.  Riding it made me want to ride in the Santa Fe Century again, and riding in the Santa Fe Century made me want to ride brevets, (though the nearest to me are around 300 miles away).  I joined RUSA.  I joined the Rocky Mountain Cycling Club, so I could ride in their brevet series, and I fully intend to ride as much of a full series as I can next year.

But that leads me back around to the question of a brevet bike.  The Rivendell is a fine touring machine, and I am sure it would work well for brevets.  I have, over the years, built it up like a brevet bike, with a Schmidt dynohub, Edelux headlight, Berthoud handlebar bag, Compass Cycles decaleur.  In short, I have put a lot of money into an already expensive bike.  The Trek is faster, more responsive.  It climbs better.  But it does not have room for fenders, or generator lights, or a handlebar bag.  It's also just a tad less comfortable than the Rivendell.

That leads me to think it is time for a dedicated randonneur.  But those are still expensive.  I have put a tiny bit of money into a Betterment savings goal, but it's not going to grow very quickly.  I just want to create the intention of saving for a specific purchase.

My mid-level aim is set on a Boulder Bicycle with Compass centerpull brakes.  I had emailed Mike Kone to ask him how much a full build cost.  He emailed back to let me know that he did not do full builds anymore and added that, if cost was an issue, why not buy a Soma Grand Randonneur, a frame he had a hand in designing.  That's tempting, but it's just not what I am looking for, although I do go back and forth about it.  For one thing, it just strikes me as odd that the front wheel alone, with a Schmidt generator hub, would cost just about as much as the frame.  The other thing is that online reviewers complain that the fork is not as flexible as those on custom built bikes. Some people think the ride is fine; some think it is terrible.  How can you judge without trying it?

Of course, what I would like most of all is one of J.P. Weigle's bikes.  Jan is riding this one in the Concours de Machines even as I type away.  By the time I saved enough, however, Peter Weigle would probably be retired.  I had thought, as well, about the MAP S&P project bikes, which were very well reviewed, but alas, Mitch Pryor told me they were no more.

So, for now, I'll save without a real goal, or continue to aim for the Boulder Bicycle, ride my Rivendell and my Trek, and try to focus on the joy of riding rather than the toe clip overlap or questions of whether the bike is planing or not.  (Curiously, while I do not have the final paperwork for my Rivendell anymore, I do have one set of plans that show my downtube is 8-5-8.  The Grand Randonneur is 9-6-9.  While I don't know what the top tube is, maybe it's more flexy than I give it credit for.)

It's been a long time since I have seriously blogged.  Parenting, work, life -- it's all busy enough that I don't make time to write.  I have, however, been wanting to start a literary magazine called *The Luminous Duck* for quite some time.  That project is still a long ways away, but I thought that I would go ahead and register the blog name.