I've enjoyed the sharing and conversations taking place there. In fact, I've been doing a little of what was formerly known as blogging. Perhaps I'll start reposting some of it here, for those of you who aren't registered there.

For those of you who are, feel free to circle me.

I really enjoy this ride (this was my sixth time): it's (fittingly) challenging, has fantastic and varied scenery, and is only a 75-minute drive away. Even so, I arrived just a few minutes before the 7:00 a.m. start time. By the time I got myself together and was rolling, it was 7:20. The late start wasn't a problem for participating in the event--it just meant I trailed most of the other riders throughout the day.

Sunrise over Tellico Plains, TN

The ride started off with an easy 20-mile jaunt through the quiet Monroe County countryside. There were very few vehicles on the roads that early on a Saturday. It was pleasant cruising in the cool morning air (upper 60Fs at the start). There are some rolling hills, but no strenuous climbs. It's a good prologue to warmed up the legs.

Morning mist in Monroe County, TN

I wasn't the only rider who got a late start. A few minutes into the ride I happened upon a couple other cyclists. I rode with them for a bit, but our paces weren't synchronous on the hills. Then ahead I saw someone almost crash when he ran over a water bottle that a cyclist in front of him dropped. I quickly cooled on the idea of pacelining with strangers and rode solo most of the remainder of the day.

An hour into the ride I stopped at the first rest stop to refill water bottles. Past Challenges taught me to be plenty hydrated for the long climb on the back half of the route, so I forcing down fluids all morning.

After a short stop, I turned onto Highway 411 through Vonore.

Vonore, TN

Our encounter with civilization is a brief one; the stop light in the above picture is the only one on the entire 113-mile course. After a few miles on Highway 411 (to cross a bridge) we turned off on Highway 72 and left the hamlet as abruptly as we enter it. Thereafter, you only pass a handful of gas stations the rest of the day.

I'm more of a city person by disposition and I get a bit wary when I'm in the wilderness. On this ride, the remoteness heightens the epic nature of the adventure. At times you feel like you're at one with nature.

Little Tennessee River

After passing through some rolling terrain, the tour passes through a relatively flat inland stretch, then skirts the lake. This is usually the fastest section of the Challenge.

Highway 72 in Blount County, TN

Highway 72, Headed Toward The Mountains

Tellico Lake

Chilhowee Dam

Chilhowee Lake

At mile 44, Highway 129 leaves the lakeside and heads up into the woods in an extremely windy fashion. This section's 318 curves in 11 miles (commonly known as the "Tail of the Dragon" http://www.tailofthedragon.com/ ) make it an attraction for motorcyclists and sports car enthusiasts.

It's fun riding it on a bicycle, too, though not nearly exhilarating when you're climbing at 9 m.p.h. But you're likely to get at least blood pressure spike if you have a close encounter with a zooming crotch rocket.

Tail of the Dragon

Motorcyclists come from all over to ride the Tail of the Dragon

Calderwood Dam

Happily for me on this day I did not have a run-ins with a fellow two-wheeled road user. My only annoyance was the racket their machines generated, which marred what would otherwise be a relaxing cruise through the woods.

Tail of the Dragon

I stopped for lunch at the second rest stop (mile 54) at the Tennessee/North Carolina state line. I had worked up a good appetite in the five hours since breakfast, so I helped myself to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chips, bananas, energy bars, and Oreos. The support at the stops on the Cherohala Challenge is great; the volunteers are generally very encouraging and helpful.

Once you enter North Carolina at Deal's Gap, the road descends sharply off the ridge past Cheoah Dam.

Cheoah Dam

(As seen in the movie The Fugitive.)

The route then follows the Cheoah River for about ten miles through an under-developed river gorge. The road here is a false flat; thanks to a gradual climb you ride at a speed about 3 m.p.h. slower than it feels like you should be going.

Cheoah River

Cheoah River

For twenty-five miles on Highway 129 I had been passed by kayak-bearing vehicles, and finally I discovered why. Periodically authorities release water from the Santeetlah Dam into the river for water enthusiasts, and I happened to be riding by during such a release.

As I ambled along the river, I noticed the water volume suddenly spike and the water turned browner. Then, through the trees, I started seeing kayaks and small rafts float by.

More than once, as I labored in the mid-day heat, it occurred to me that these people in the cool water had it right, while I on a bicycle had it wrong.

Kayakers along the Cheoah River

After another liquid refill at rest area #3, I followed the turn into the woods toward Lake Santeetlah and the Joyce Killmer Wilderness. It truly is a a wilderness there; the only traffic I saw on the road for several miles was a handful of toiling cyclists.

The road past the lake features the steepest climbing to that point of the ride--a prelude of what is to come. But I was still feeling good about my progress until I started seeing dark clouds peaking through the forest canopy. Then, as I made the turn onto the Skyway access road, I heard rumbling thunder.

Uh oh.

Sure enough, a mile into the climb, the rain hit. Not a downpour (thankfully), or a prolonged shower, but enough to get all wet. And once you're wet, you're wet. I don't enjoy riding in the rain, but when you are caught out in it miles from shelter, you've got little choice but to keep pedaling.

So I did, slowly, up the mountain. It takes a long time to do a 13-mile climb at 7-8 m.p.h., affording one plenty of time to deliberate such weighty topics as: "Why am I doing this?" "What went wrong in my childhood?" "Should I seek counseling?"

I didn't take many pictures after the rain started because it was a pain wrapping and unwrapping the camera to keep it dry.

Nantahala National Forest

(If you look closely just left of center you can see two V-cuts in the mountain profile where the road goes.)

I stopped at the rest stop mid-way up the climb to take a break and dry my forehead off. One redeeming factor about the weather was that we didn't have to climb under the hot midday sun (there's no shade on the Skyway). Yet even on this cooler afternoon I still managed to get sweat in my eyes.

Nantahala National Forest

For much of the climb the weather held as pictured above. But when I made a turn to the other side of the ridge, near the top, I was greeted by a blast of noticeably cooler air. A few minutes later another rain shower hit, much like the one before, only colder. Then foggy clouds enveloped the mountain. It was not a welcome turn of events,

Santeetlah Overlook (highest overlook on the Skyway)

Santeetlah Overlook

It was cool and wet at the top. Normally I feel like I've accomplished something when I reach that point. But this time my mood was much more "meh."

A number of riders were waiting for a van to take them down the mountain. Conditions weren't bad enough for me to seriously consider doing that, but I was apprehensive about what Mother Nature might still bring.

The first few miles of the descent weren't enjoyable at all. Visibility was poor, and even if it had been better I would still have been slowed because my wet brakes weren't gripping very well. I had to ride them a lot to ensure that I didn't loose control on the curves.

Finally, 12 miles downhill from the top, I broke through the cloud cover and could see again.

Turkey Creek Overlook

At mile 99-100 of the ride the Skyway turns off the mountainside into a stretch with some rollers mixed in. If you're running on fumes, this is a spot where cramps can rear their ugly head. But on this day I felt as good as I ever have--tired, yes, but not on the verge of summoning the rescue team.

I was feeling victorious when I reached the Champs-Élysées run, reentering Tellico Plains (the final seven miles are downhill), but Mother Nature had the last laugh. Three miles from the finish line it started raining--as hard as it had all day. Instead of finishing in triumph, I finished soaking wet.

But that didn't matter. Twenty minutes later, as I sat, half-wet, eating plain pasta (they ran out of sauce), all worldly discomforts had faded into white noise. I basked in a velo glow, having conquered hill and dale, sun and rain, in an all-day journey that took me right back where I started.

I had reached at the pinnacle of pointless endeavors: I was a cyclist.

But I did arise, downed my customary pre-century tator tot breakfast, and made the 100-mile drive to the Finley Stadium staging area. By the time I gathered my registration packet and geared up, the motorcycle-led velo parade had already already started to roll. I waited a few minutes as queued cyclists slowly filed by, then joined the procession at the back of the pack.

At the start line

The first few city miles were at an easy warm-up pace, which was fitting because it was a chilly morning (low 50Fs). Within an hour it started warming up nicely and turned out to be a great day for cycling: 70Fs and dry.

Downtown Chattanooga

Crossing the Tennessee River at Chattanooga

It's funny how accidents can occur when you least expect them. The closest I came to a mishap the entire day was minutes from the start. I glanced ahead after taking the picture of the river and discovered, to my dismay, that everyone ahead was braking due to a long backup on the exit ramp. I frantically grabbed for my brake levers and narrowly averted what would have been an embarrassing collision with cyclists in front of me.

Once I made it past the bridge off-ramp logjam, the pace picked up because there was more room to pass.

Going into the tunnel on the first hill

After the first ridge, the course followed some open, multi-lane roads, then paralleled the river for several miles. The police blocked motorized traffic in this stretch, so it was uninterrupted sailing through the hills.

One of the interesting things about these kind of events is the diversity of pedal-pushers you see. A majority of participants are 30-50 year-old white male road cyclists from not very far away. But there are also women, seniors, tandems, recumbents, and riders of other shapes and sizes. They come from all over, too. At a picture stop I met a guy from Iowa. Judging from the labored climbing I saw from many riders, he wasn't the only person who came from flat terrain.

Recumbent bicycle

After about 11 miles the route reaches the first "mountain," Suck Creek Mountain. The climb itself isn't bad (5 miles at a 4-6%), but a couple things about it were annoying.

First, the riders near the back where I was were too slow. I'm hardly the fastest rider around, but my natural climbing rhythm was 3-4 m.p.h. faster than almost everyone around me. So I went the entire way up the left side of the lane, often going into the opposite lane to pass people. I felt like Lance Armstrong, passing hundreds of riders.

The problem was that there were also cars on the road, in the opposite lane, attempting to pass going both directions. (You can see one in the picture below). It seemed more unsafe this year than on prior rides. I even saw one car passing another car that was passing cyclists . . . going around a turn! Event organizers should rethink traffic control on this mountain--it's an accident waiting to happen.

Climbing Suck Creek Mountain

After a cool, somewhat unpleasant descent on the other side (curves + crazy cyclists are unsettling), the route changed character with a nice long stretch of valley riding. I seldom get to ride extended flat terrain so this section was a rare treat. Along the way I mingled with ad hoc pelotons and was surprised how little effort it took to maintain a 21-22 mph cruising speed in that manner.

A couple hours into the ride I decided it was time to eat, so I stopped at the second rest stop for a snack. It was at a new location this year.

Authorities were prepared for the worst

After a relaxed break, I returned to the road with renewed energy. Most of the larger groups had disappeared by this point, so I rode solo most of the remainder of the day.

Autumn SEC rivals mingle on a spring Saturday

Nickajack Lake

Bridge crossing

Approximately 50 miles into the route the ride reached Sand Mountain. Normally the course ascends the mountain on a quiet, windy back road through the woods. This year, however, it went up a state highway. (I would soon discover why).

The rerouted climb was similar in difficulty to the normal climb (2-3 miles at a 6-7% grade). It's enough to make you work. And in my case, it brought sweat to my eyes, which always makes ascending even more miserable.

A first-time climb almost always seems worse because you don't know how long it lasts. And, true to form, I was fooled into thinking I was approaching the top when the road leveled off, only to discover more climbing around the bend. Oh, the humanity!

Climbing Sand Mountain

One detour benefit which I thought we were going to enjoy was that we would avoid the horribly rough Alabama back roads. No such luck. Shortly after topping Sand Mountain we turned down a side road and started to rumble. I looked for as smooth a line as I could find, but there weren't any. It was the Alabama third-world appreciation segment.

The jarring was not for naught. There was a nice overlook which offered a panoramic view of the valley. Below you could see why we had taken a different course--a tornado had gone right over the normal road.

From the mountaintop, you could trace the path of destruction for miles across the valley. I had never seen extensive tornado damage before; it was quite a spectacle.

Brown path of fallen trees

Me, enjoying the overlook

After enjoying a second round of food at the Bryant rest stop (all of which were well-stocked with sandwiches, snacks, and drinks) I followed the eastward turn toward Georgia. It's an easy 17-mile cruise along the brow of Sand Mountain. The only remarkable thing I encountered was the number of fallen trees across Northern Alabama and Georgia. I doubt I went a mile on the backstretch without seeing at least one tree or large limb littering the wayside.

Northeast Alabama countryside

Georgia Mountains

About 70 miles into the ride I reached the second major detour. Event organizers axed the third mountain: Burkhalter Gap Road/Lookout Mountain. [Someone on a forum posted that it was because the Town of Signal Mountain opted not to support the ride.] Whatever the reason, I was disappointed because I was looking forward to testing my metal on the ride's signature climb, which features a 16-18% grade at the top.

To add insult to injury, the revised "century" route wasn't even 100 miles--it was approximately 88! I understand that there were extraordinary circumstances which the Chattanooga Bicycle Club could not control, but I believe they could have at least sketched out a revised 100 mile route. Fail.

Returning to the homeland

Cyclists get their own lane riding back into Chattanooga

Traffic backed up near the stadium (finish line)

After recharging with post-ride food at Finley Stadium (Subway sandwiches), curiosity got the best of me and I decided to survey storm damage up close by rerouting my drive home through Ringgold, GA, which was hit by an EF4 storm.

It didn't take long to find where the storm hit--you could see the path of destruction from the highway exit ramp. I went back and forth for a mile on the exit road, looking at damaged/destroyed businesses and former gas stations.

Destroyed signs

Traffic was backed up on the main roads--filled, in part, with other disaster tourists. I wasn't sure where to go to see the full extent of the destruction when I noticed about a 1/4 mile wide brown path on the ridge to the east. I lined it up with my location, and, sure enough, I had discovered the tornado path.

I followed the rubble compass back through the business section into a several-block-wide, low-end residential area (bordered by the middle school) that had been hammered. Dozens of homes and the school itself were damaged. Workers used the parking lot of the latter as a staging area for reconstruction.

Restoring power lines

I felt conscientious about gawking where people had been killed or were trying to salvage their houses. I tried to be discreet by taking pictures from inside the car or where no one was around. The roaming sheriff cars were an additional reminder to keep a low profile.

Church remains (note the overturned vehicle in the middle

I've never been in a destroyed area so soon after a disaster. The devastation is much more striking in person than it appears on TV. It's awe-inspiring witnessing how intense natural forces can transform property and trees--which took many years in the making--into rubble piles in a few seconds. I recommend that you avoid being caught in a tornado, if at all possible.

All in all, it was an eventful day. I enjoyed the spring ride in the tri-state area (except for the part that got cut off). And encountering the storm damage made me even more thankful that I had a couch awaiting at home to relax on.

Jean Teague Greenway

West Hills

Westmoreland Trail

Tennessee River

Sequoyah Hills

I designed the document for cycling, but you can also use it for running, walking, cross-country skiing, or some other distance exercise.

Feel free to download and use the sheets for personal, non-commercial use.

Additionally, I have also been recording my rides online at BikeWire.

We should strive to balance clarity with expression.

[I frankly don't care for the kinetic typography, but you can just listen to the audio and look at something else].

For those of you who aren't familiar with it, the Skyway is

a 43-mile (69 km) National Scenic Byway that connects Tellico Plains, Tennessee, to Robbinsville, North Carolina in the southeastern United States. Its name is a portmanteau of Cherokee and Nantahala, the two national forests through which it passes.

It was a great afternoon to be outside: mostly sunny, light winds, temperatures (in the valley) in the mid-70s. I wasn't the only person who opted to spend it in the mountains. Thanks to the leaf watchers, there was more traffic than I had ever seen on the Skyway before. And yet, in comparison to other mountain roads (namely, the Smoky Mountains) it was still light. Up top you could watch the road for a couple minutes and not see a vehicle drive by.

That's one thing that makes the Skyway such a unique experience. Apart from the sparse traffic, the only evidence of civilization you see in 30+ miles are a couple outhouses and some picnic tables. If you're riding solo, this complete immersion into the wilderness adds an even more epic dynamic to your conquest of the mountains. Although I enjoy the solitude, it would be nice if they had some water up there, though. Hauling your own adds extra weight.

Pictures:

At the Tellico Plains Visitor's Center, minutes before launch time

Fancy bridge

The Skyway is a popular motorcycle destination

The Tellico River

Further upstream. The Skyway follows the Tellico River for about five miles.

Winding along the Tellico River

I made the here trip for a couple reasons: (1) because I haven't done a challenging climb all year, and (2) to see fall colors.

The Skyway was a good choice on both accounts. Although the foliage was past peak above 4,000 feet, there was still plenty of nice color between 2,500-4,500 feet. It was just peaking below 2,500 feet. I had never been on the Cherohala during the fall (only during the summer), so it was a new experience this time.

As for the climbing, it's abundant. I estimate that 26 of the 31 miles to the top are uphill. The climbing ranges from an easy five-mile jaunt along the river (18 mph) to miles-long sections of 6-8%, even 9%. Plenty of slogging along at 7-8 mph. Lots of quality face time with the front wheel.

To me, the mental dynamic of a long climb becomes just as challenging as the physical demand. It starts getting in my head when I see nothing but more hill turn after turn after turn. I become psychologically fatigued thinking about the enormity of the mountain, rather than focusing on just reaching the next curve ahead.

There's a life lesson there somewhere.

Autumn colors

Virtually every grueling ride I do has a "Doubting Thomas" moment--a time, relatively early in the ordeal, where I question my sanity and ability to complete the mission. In short, I say to myself, "This is a bad idea. Why the hell am I doing this?"

This ride was no exception. About seven miles into the trek, before I had even reached the sustained torturous stretches, my bike started making funny noises. That was all it took to kick my worry motor into overdrive. What if I suffered a catastrophic mechanical or physical breakdown out in this remote country? That would suck. Wouldn't it be much more sensible to turn back and do the easy road along the river instead?

Yes, that would have been the sane thing to do. Which is why I kept going.

Turkey Creek Overlook

The reds were the best colors along the route. The yellows and oranges weren't as brilliant.

You can faintly see the road winding through the "V" in the mountain profile above.

Entering foreign territory at Unicoi Crest. The western ascent includes almost 25 miles of Tennessee Highway 165 and 7 miles on North Carolina Highway 143.

Colors were past peak color above 4,000 feet. Many of the leaves had already fallen.

No rest for the weary on the mighty Cherohala Skyway.

At last, the top of the Skyway is within sight (above). Note all the barren trees.

Near the top of Skyway. Curiously, the panorama from the highest overlook isn't very good. There are much better views just to the east and west of it.

Skyway conquered! At Santeetlah Overlook, elevation 5,390 feet.

It was pleasant on the summit for October. The sun was still out and there was only a light breeze. I've felt colder up there in June.

I sat for several minutes listening to a motorcyclist loudly talking on his phone. I wanted to get someone to take a picture. A couple vehicles pulled over, but no one lingered long enough for me to approach them. Finally a nice lady from Florida emerged from a van and obliged. She took not one, but several. Holding your bike up by a sign isn't the most natural of poses.

It's a great feeling sitting on the summit. You quickly forget the sweat and pain it took to get there and bask in the air of your velo superiority. To borrow a movie phrase, you feel like king of the world, or at least king of that mountain. But then after a bit you turn around and head back down, making the whole exercise seem rather pointless.

Entering uncharted territory.

Evening haze envelops the Unicoi Mountains.

One last look at the ageless mountains.

I take a bizarre sense of pride in two otherwise trivial aspects of the ride. First, I never used the lowest two gears on the bike, even on the 9% grades. Some cyclists like to sit and spin; I like to stand and mash. It works for me. Besides, it's reassuring to know that there's an easier gear available if you need it.

Second, I consumed just over two bottles of water during the ride. No food. I did have emergency provisions (and warmer clothing) in a backpack--which, incidentally, was rather uncomfortable when I was sweating--but I didn't need it. I only drank some of the extra water, the rest of the stuff I hauled for nothing. But better to be safe than sorry. If you bonk (low blood sugar) or get the chills miles from anywhere, you've got a big problem.

Fortunately, nothing went wrong. I didn't cramp and my squeaky bike didn't break down. I rolled back into Tellico Plains with amble daylight, a bit tired, but exhilarated from another velo mountaintop experience.

Ride stats

Distance: 62.5 miles
Time: 4:28

It was a beautiful October afternoon/evening for a ride: sunny, a temperature near 80F, light winds. The leaves were just starting to change colors.

The only drawback was that the setting sun made it difficult to get any good pictures facing westward.

I've ridden this route probably a dozen times or more, but surprisingly it had been several months since the last time. Not much has changed though, other than the rough roads having few more potholes.

Scenes along the route:

Road construction on Tipton Station Road

Pickens Gap Road

I.C. King Road

Animals at Brookhaven Retreat

Nails Creek Road

Martin Mill Pike

Self portrait

Tarklin Valley Road

Someone's day just got worse on Governor John Sevier Highway.

Ride stats

Distance: 35 miles
Time: 2:08

I was entering this Edington Road one-lane underpass (Google Street Views), already in the one lane part, and this white, trashy-looking 20-something-year-old a-hole comes comes in the other side. So someone has got to back up. I thought I should have the right-of-way, since I was there first. But there are no signs, and, not being too familiar with the local driving customs, I decide to back up since there is a small pull-off on my side of the bridge.

So I start to back up, slowly, because I'm not a great backer-upper and because I don't want to bang my bike or car on the low bridge.

Well, that wasn't enough for Mr. Eminem-wannabe. He revs up his big Cadillac, starts flashing his lights, honking, and yelling obscenities the entire time I'm backing up. I thought about stopping just to further annoy him, but who knows what kind of dangerous response that would have triggered?

What a freakin' idiot.

It's bad enough confronting such clowns when you're in a car. It's all the worse for me when I think about how I'm sharing the road with these hotheads on my bicycle. Yikes.

I decided to ride out to Oak Ridge, the Secret City (so named because it was founded as part of the Manhattan Project). I grabbed an apple, filled my water bottles, and embarked on another cycling adventure.

The pictures chronicle the journey:

Heading out of Knoxville on Middlebrook Pike.

Sheep enjoying the October sunshine.

Heading down into a ravine.

Scenic inlet.

Make sure your brakes are in good working condition.

Bull Run Fossil Plant. Air quality is good today.

Looking across the Clinch River.

Cruising through the Secret City. Traffic was quite light.

Oak Ridge High School. I like the logo (on the left).

Freshly-paved Highway 95. I was surprised to discover several miles of bike lane! But it had a lot of gravel on it so I ended up riding at the edge of the traffic lane much of the way anyway.

Which way do I go? Where's my map?

I've got the road all to myself.

Uh oh.

Security gate at Oak Ridge National Laboratory. Oops, I left my security clearance at home.

Melton Hill Dam.

Dam/Bike shot.

Riding on a bridge over the interstate I noticed that something bad had happened to this car.

Ensuing traffic jam.

A change in the hillside hue indicates that evening draws nigh.

A great ride. Traffic was light, winds were mild, I only had two cars honk at me, and no one threw anything at me. What more can you ask for?

Ride stats:

62.8 miles
3:45:30

Take this example from President Clinton, who's no political slouch. He's asked who the employment situation is so bad, and he makes several pretty good points explaining why we're not seeing job growth in this recovery. But then he adds this:

"The last unemployment report said that for the first time in my lifetime, and I'm not young, in my lifetime, we are coming out of a recession but job openings are going up twice as fast as new hires. And yet we can all cite cases that we know about where somebody opened a job and 400 people showed up.

How could this be? Because people don't have the job skills for the jobs that are open. So here's the most important thing. If we were hiring since last June when economists said the shrinkage stopped, between then and now, if we had been hiring people on the jobs where people are trying to hire, that is we could get those jobs this morning after this TV show is over, if we were doing that at the same rate were doing that in 93, 94, 95, there would be five million more people at work. This unemployment rate would be 6.9 (percent) not 9.6 (percent.) We would be in a different world, not just economically but emotionally as as country.

Get that? There actually are lots of jobs available, the problem is that our workforce just isn't smart enough--err--isn't trained enough to fill them.

Right. Tell that to all the recent-college graduates or seasoned workers who are working low end or part-time jobs just to get by.

The truth is that the vast majority of workers without jobs are unemployed not because they are untrained, but rather because there's too much productive capacity in the economy to support our present demand. And we're not going to see a meaningful pick-up in demand (and employment) until we deleverage the huge cloud of debt hanging over our economy, which will take many more months or years.

There's no easy way out of this dilemma and politicians have no painless solutions. Our near-term outlook is painfully at odds with the long-standing, politically-palatable myth about "American Exceptionalism." Which is why I suspect we will continue hearing politicians wallpaper over our problems as Clinton did above.

Here's a couple clips on the 1982 World's Fair. I lived in Knoxville then, but I only attended the Fair a couple times and don't remember the actual fairgrounds very vividly. However, I do remember all the hype it generated and the significant impact it had on the city for over a decade.

Watching this funny-looking early 80s stuff makes me feel old.

A segment produced while the Fair was still being constructed:

Footage of the Fair:

I was surprised because I assumed that health care (along with funeral homes and the like) would be a largely recession-proof industry. People keep getting sick and must see a doctor.

[My hunch that health care demand is inelastic likely stems from the fact that I'm reluctant to see the doctor unless I really need to do it.]

A study released earlier this year (link to actual paper [.pdf]) reveals that the recession has not only affected my neighborly doctor but the industry as a whole:

The economic crisis in the United States has reduced the use of routine medical care, and the cutbacks here are much deeper than in countries with universal health care systems, researchers say in a new report. . . . Among Americans responding to the survey, they said, 26.5 percent reported reducing their use of routine medical care since the start of the global economic crisis in 2007.

Not surprisingly, these cutbacks are far deeper than consumers have made in countries that have universal health care:

This proportion dwarfs the comparable numbers for other countries: 5.3 percent in Canada, 7.6 percent in Britain, 10.3 percent in Germany and 12 percent in France. . . . Cutbacks were generally correlated with the size of out-of-pocket costs, the researchers found. The proportion of people reporting reductions in routine care was smaller in Britain and Canada, where the co-payments are lower, than in France and Germany, where somewhat larger co-payments are required.

At any rate it's another example of how the recession has impacted everyone. OK, maybe not the morgue.

For about eight years, I was a hospice volunteer, and had the honor to attend many people throughout their dying process. One of the most reliable rules was that people died as they had lived. Happy people were happy at the end, crabby people were crabby, anxious people were anxious. The story of human personality development is largely one of continuity. Temperamental differences measured within an hour of birth predict temperament 20 years later, and people who win million dollar lotto prizes tend, within a year, to return to being precisely as happy or unhappy as they were before their big win.

Humphreys' point is that people facing death rarely undergo a dramatic religious conversion. But I'm just as curious about his line on infant temperaments. Can we tell what kind of adult is in the making by the way a newborn behaves?

It turns out there is research linking infant temperament to adult brain structure:

Conclusions To our knowledge, this is the first demonstration that temperamental differences measured at 4 months of age have implications for the architecture of human cerebral cortex lasting into adulthood. Understanding the developmental mechanisms that shape these differences may offer new ways to understand mood and anxiety disorders as well as the formation of adult personality.

However, developmental psychologist Jerome Kagan, author of The Temperamental Thread, notes that this does not mean we can predict adult personality per se:

Knowledge of a child's temperaments does not predict their adult personality profiles very well. Temperaments act primarily by preventing a person from developing a certain personality, rather than determining a specific type. For example, we call one of our infant temperaments high-reactivity. These infants are easily aroused by any event that is new or unexpected. When we assessed a large group of high reactives at 15 years of age and asked what proportion were extremely shy, anxious, timid, or cautious we learned that about 25 percent had such a profile. One might conclude that their infant temperament was not very predictive. That conclusion is reasonable because their environments have shaped their temperaments in distinct ways. But now let us ask: what proportion of high reactives has been, over the past 12 or 13 years, consistently ebullient, risk-prone, and socially outgoing? The answer is 5 percent. We do very well when we predict what they will not be for we predict correctly for 95 percent of these adolescents.

Almost everyone can learn to play tennis. But how many can play like Roger Federer? Not many, because their biology prevents them from attaining this level of talent. If you knew my genome the day I was born, you might be able to predict with great confidence that I would not play as well as Roger Federer. But you would be wrong if you said that this boy will never learn to play tennis. Temperaments constrain, rather than predict, the future. Their primary role is to limit what might develop.

I'm a rank layperson with no special insights into this. I'm just fascinated by the topic of what it is that makes us who we are.