about
Contact information:
preston@bannister.us (email)
14 Vallecito, Foothill Ranch, California 92610 (home)
(949)588-0872 (phone)
preston.bannister@gmail.com (on Google Talk – near always)
pbannister (on Yahoo Messenger – sometimes)
pbannister (on AIM – sometimes)
preston@bannister.us (on Windows/MSN Messenger – sometimes)
Note that I often switch between computers, so if you send an IM, it might go to a computer I am not currently using. The upshot is I might not respond immediately.
My not-recently-updated webpages are at http://bannister.us/preston.bannister/ (no real reason to go there).
If you are trying to figure what kind of person I am, it’s not too hard. I write software for a living, and I’m pretty good at it. If you do a web search on “Preston L. Bannister” (and old NetNews postings) you will get some notion of my interests. (The use of the middle initial is an old habit – my father has the same first initial.)
Way more than you probably want to know…
My father was an engineer. I was born in Nebraska, and grew up in the city of Placentia here in Orange County, California. We moved to California when my father got a job at one of the cold war era then-massive aerospace companies. At the time, Orange County was still largely orange groves. We could pick weeds out of the backyard, and feed the horses through the fence behind the house. As kids we could cross the neighbors backyard and wander around though seemingly endless orchards (though forbidden).
Growing up, spent a lot of time reading. Started checking out books from the Placentia public library at seven. Every few days made the trip to the library (by bicycle) to checkout and return another batch of books. By ten(?) had read through the entire children’s section, or at least the part in which I was interested (science and aerospace). Got an exemption to checkout books from the “adult” section (a label which probably has a different meaning now). Discovered science fiction a few years later.
Built model airplanes as a kid. Got this interest from my father. Not a great hobby in suburban southern California – even then. Lack of open fields meant models that flew well either collided with buildings (and had to be repaired), or flew out of sight and were lost. Lots of time building, and not a lot of time flying.
Went to a decent but not great public High School (Valencia). Got into athletics and ran in Cross-County and Track, but performed erratically (in sum was far too determined, and always overdid it in training). Grades were decent but not exceptional (did very well when interested, otherwise indifferent). Scored in the 99th percentile on the PSAT and SAT tests. Doubtless this shocked some of my teachers, and in retrospect was due far more to the local library than to the local schools. Spent the final year in independent study classes (General Semantics, and readings in philosophy and politics) and taking Calculus at the nearby community college.
Later found that between a rather dim counseler, and rather “average” high school, I had missed out on a lot of opportunities offered other “bright” kids. Never had to work very hard in school, and in retrospect, was largely bored out of my mind. The local library was the only window into a more interesting and challenging world.
Did not have money for college, so spent a couple years taking everything I could (that was transferable) at the local community college. Took the maximum permitted workload without difficulty (which lead into a later mistake when transferring to University). Worked and saved money for a couple years.
Worked at a slowly failing bicycle shop. The owner got the business from his father (who had bought it not long before), and it was not much interested. There was a whorehouse a few doors down, and few odd folk with broken minds wandering the area. The intersection outside the shop was rather prone to accidents, so got to see a number of freshly crunched cars. Across the street was a business that did abortions. Saw a staged “protest”, which started a few minutes before the cameras arrived, and ended shortly after the cameras left – the whole thing might have taken a hour. Stuck with the shop to it’s end, after which the owner let me take any of the tools I wanted.
Bought my first “good” bike – a Motobecane Grand Jubilee. While a joy to ride, I eventually figured out that French bikes were built for folk with relatively short legs and a long torso. I had long legs and a relatively short torso – so the bike was not an ideal fit.
Got rather a lot into cycling. Along with my father, started riding with a local bicycling club (the Orange County Wheelmen). On the first ride, the main group took off, and I was not remotely able to keep up – which was completely and absolutely unacceptable. Added 1/2 hour “fast” training rides to my commute, and within a couple months was able to stay with the main group. A year later I was strong enough to pull off the front of the group, and force the other riders to form a paceline so they could keep up. After a couple years later we were part of the club “clique” and my father became president of the club. (The secret – for non-clique members – is to show up and help regularly. Nothing more.)
This level of fitness was an absolute joy. I had to switch to a stronger bike frame. Flying down Coast Highway late on afternoon with the sun directly behind, I could see the frame flex from side to side as I pedaled. Hills became something to fly over, rather than a work of slow labor. A couple racers started coming occasionally to the club rides, and by the midpoint we would be completely out of sight from the other riders. I later learned both racers were UCSF (United States Cycling Federation) category 3 at the time, and later both category 2 (national level) racers. Thought for a while about racing.
Was recruited by a guy with a small very cool bike shop in Huntington Beach (Two Wheel Transit Authority), which in short order became one of the very best bike shops in southern California. The shop focused mainly on outfitting folks for bicycle touring. As a 19-year old kid – advising, configuring, and assembling several thousand dollars (in the late 1970’s dollars) worth of bikes and equipment for folks would then go off to Europe and live of months with that gear – this was a huge leap. Folks came back happy, so I must not have screwed up by much.
One guy showed up with an old bike, and asked for an opinion. The bike was very basic, but not junk, which I tried to explain as politely as possible. A few weeks later he came and asked me to put together a bike exactly suited for him. On delivery he rode the bike down to the Mexican border, turned around, rode up to the Canadian border (yikes!), and came back entirely satisfied.
Went to UCI (University of California, Irvine) in 1978. (…)
(… more later, perhaps)