It has now been two weeks to the day that we returned to Kemmerer from our ride across Washington State. I can thank my boss for two weeks chock full of projects and deadlines that kept me from suffering post project blues.
Hard to believe it was two years ago that I was first inspired by Cheryl Strayed's book Wild, and 17 months ago that I bought Cycling the Pacific Northwest with the thought that I could pedal my way through one of the four sections of that ride.
I have so appreciated the love and support I experienced throughout this -- still amazed that anyone other than me actually reads this blog, and more amazed at the 3300+ hits it has accumulated as of today. Thank you so much to all of you who have commented, shared, laughed, inspired, prayed, encouraged and believed. My cup runs over.
One profound observation I have made is that when you stretch yourself and set a difficult goal, there is tremendous growth that comes so incrementally it is almost imperceptible until you look back over the change. I saw this in the physical... I didn't see myself daily getting stronger, but when I look back the progress is clear. I remember the first time I tried to ride up the hill just outside town on 233 (right before the llamas). I got about 2/3 of the way up and stopped because my heart was beating so wildly that it was a very real danger that I might have a heart attack on the side of the road. Today, that hill is nothing.... something that I don't even need to shift all the way down for and that hardly raises my heart rate. Amazing. At one time, riding 5 miles was epic. Today, riding less than 20 is an easy, short ride.
Emotionally, mentally, psychologically there have been changes, too. I had a lot of fear 17 months ago -- fear of going too fast, fear of falling, fear of getting stranded, fear of failing, fear of my own body and how this chubby woman would be perceived in full riding gear on the bike. Not anymore. I now love the feeling of flying on the bike and want to seek out more interesting and difficult rides. I could not care less what people think I look like in my cycling shorts and helmet -- after all, I am out doing it, and by doing so I am contributing to a better, fuller, richer, healthier life, and that is the main thing.
In my work I have the attitude of "How hard can it be?" But now I find myself saying that in the physical as well. I am more willing to try physical challenges even within my limitations. "I can do this... I've got this.... I'm going to try it... why not?" These are the phrases that have more frequently and naturally entered my vocabulary.
In the end, the ride was not perfect. We did not reach the 323 miles, for a host of reasons that include weather, unforeseen problems (ie. Fred's shoe breaking), at times disorganization and not realizing just how hard we could push ourselves. I am confident that we can fix all of that (well, maybe not the weather!) in our future rides. And oh yes, there will be future rides. We are already talking about the next one. (Still not feeling smurfy about "Riding the Rockies", Dianne!)
Adam and Aislynn have watched me take this on. I think it's such a good example to my daughter about setting longer term goals and working steadily to reach them. Adam is sufficiently fired up to want to get a road bike for himself, and to get me a better touring bike, which would allow Aislynn to use my current road bike so that we can do some family cycling.
I still have much work to do on my body and my health. I am convinced that I need to set a new goal and set it soon -- apparently I am of the nature that without set goals and deadlines, I will not be able to stick to or maintain a healthy routine. I have made peace with this part of my psyche, and know I need to work within who I am. (I'm reading The Happiness Project right now, and the author talks a lot about setting and reaching goals while "Being Gretchen" - herself. I need to "Be Jennifer" and stay realistic about how I approach things in order to give myself the most chance for success.)
It is not a secret that I was closer to my grandmother, Angeline, than I was to my mom, Jeorgi. For most things I have accomplished in my life, it is my grandma I rushed to tell, because so often she could really appreciate and enjoy my successes. But this one.... this one my mom would have really gotten and celebrated. So here's to you, Mom. And here's to learning from the challenges you faced and working to do things differently while still appreciating who you were and what you've taught me.
My friend Layne talks about each person having a hero's journey in his or her lifetime. He says that when it happens, that journey defines us and changes us forever. Layne, this was not that journey for me, but it was the precursor -- the adventure that has made me positive that my hero's journey is out there and that I will find it and accomplish it.
I have a lot of thank yous to give.
1. To Adam and Aislynn, for indulging me with our time, our budget, our conversation. Adam, you always allow me to reach for goals and support them in your quiet, steady way. Thank you, especially, for letting me fulfill this one even as you were reeling from your mom's unexpected passing.
2. To Jean and Ann and Jenny... you ladies have offered so much support and love through your comments and faithful reading of my posts. I'm not sure what interested you in them, but I want you to know that I got lots of encouragement and energy from all of you.
3. Janelle, thank you. You are such a role model for me with your healthy lifestyle and what I call your "high health intelligence quotient" (HHIQ). I really appreciate your advice and help.
4. To Nancy, being a support driver is a pretty tough role... lots of hours alone, just waiting, waiting, waiting. Having plans change on a dime and having to adjust to our aches, pains, moods, energy levels, whims, etc., could not have been easy. We could not have done the ride without you, and your presence allowed us to focus on the ride in a way that we really needed to and appreciated.
5. To those of you who checked in on the blog from time to time, thank you. You made me accountable to finish what I started, and you gave me a place to think, consider, vent, cry, rage, laugh, and share. And more than you know, you made me get back on the bike time and again when I might have otherwise ditched the whole project.
6. To my friends in Kemmerer, thanks for asking me how it was going when you saw me. Thanks for being excited as the trip got near. Bob, thanks for taking me out to practice and for picking me up. Kathy, thanks for rescuing me with fluids and carbs when my idiocy and lack of planning threatened my stamina and health. Thanks for your prayers and thoughts toward our safety the week we rode -- so glad to be back safely.
7. Matt, thanks for all the brotherly advice and for lending me your expertise when I needed answers. Bec, thanks for listening to me drone on and on and on and on about this. So lucky to have siblings who are also my close friends.
8. Sharon, thank you for the prayers. I know you don't always understand my whims, but I can always count on you to pray for me and share your love and concerns.
And finally...
9. Fred.... thank you. The greatest show of love, friendship and support was you agreeing to do this WITH me. Especially awesome is the fact that you weren't even a cyclist and took it on so I wouldn't have to do it alone. You are a wonderful riding partner, an easy travel partner, and a great mentor. Did you ever think that two months after your 70th birthday you would be pedaling your way across Washington? Thank you for saying yes, with all the time, expense and effort it entailed. We did it!
And so I have come to the final entry of this blog. I have tried to write blogs many times before and have never been able to keep them up, so this is another first for me embedded in the journey. It feels so strange, and a little bittersweet, but I am comforting myself with the thought that this is not an end, but rather a beginning of sorts.... of great things to come.
What other way is there to finish this than to say..... Thanks, blog.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Friday, October 4, 2013
Day 6 The Second Last Post for This Blog (Punting is Still Points)
It was hard to believe how quickly the week went.... kind of like a wedding or big party -- all that planning for months and months, and then it's over before you know it. I try to remind myself that this is why it's the journey that's so important... because all told we spend more time along the way than at any given destination.
I woke up on Friday exhilarated from the previous day's success and ready to go. This was it. The final piece that would culminate in a victory ride across the bridge of the Columbia River as we entered Oregon. What a thrill... what a rush... what an ending to an incredible trip... what an accomplishment... what a cold, wet, crappy, rainy, foggy, zero visibility day.
It rained. And rained. And rained and rained and rained. And then it rained some more. And not the rain of the previous days -- the fine mist that permeated everything but caused no real damage or delay. No, this was honest-to-goodness knock down, drag out hard rain. The kind you don't ride in. The kind that makes you stay inside with quilts and movies and popcorns. That kind of rain.
As we ate breakfast, there was a general testiness and anxiety among us, although as usual the conversation was good. When we finished eating, I took over at the wheel, needing the focus on driving to calm my nerves. We headed south on 101, reasoning that we might be able to outdrive the weather and get close enough to at least make the ride into Oregon.
By the time we got to Seaview, which was about 30-40 miles from Astoria, it became pretty clear that there was no way in Hades we were going to complete the ride anytime soon. It wasn't just how wet and slippery everything was; I had a hard time seeing 15 feet in front of me, and I knew that crossing a shoulderless, busy bridge in this rain would be akin to tattooing "Very Stupid" across my forehead.
We stopped at a gas station, filled up, inquired about the nearest latte and considered our options. I knew Fred would defer to whatever decision I made because he was so in tune to the significance of this experience for me.
On one hand, my frustrated perfectionist determination was coming out. I needed to ride across that #$%#$% bridge. On the other, my pragmatism was standing in full arms-crossed, eyebrow-raised skepticism -- this rain wasn't going to stop anytime soon. So did we try to wait it out or not?
I thought about it, going back and forth. Then I found myself thinking about moments throughout the trip... how I felt the very first time I clipped into my pedals on San Juan Island, telling the couple in the pick-up truck we had "only" done a 25 mile ride so far, falling on the road out of Oak Harbor and getting back on my bike, making it over the final hill on the Egg and I, riding into Aberdeen on a high I have never felt in my life, seeing the purples and blues of the sky reflected in the water next to the road, hearing Fred say he never wanted to get in a car again... and then I thought back to the training days, when 6 miles seemed interminable.. the first time I rode back to town from 12 miles out.... riding 30 miles to Viva Naughton and back.... climbing out of the canyon in Grand Junction... all of it.
At that moment, it dawned on me that the bridge to Astoria was not the end all, be all of this trip. In fact, it wasn't an end at all, but rather a beginning of a new lifestyle, new confidence, new goals, new dreams, new things to see and do.
Those thoughts allowed me to calmly, contentedly turn to Nancy and Fred and say, "Let's head back toward Mount Vernon. It's not about the bridge, it's about being on the bike. If it clears up on the way back, we'll get out and ride. It's all good."
And that's exactly what we did. We drove toward Mount Vernon. I reclined in the back seat, looking out the window at the towering pines passing as I listened to music through my ear buds. "On Earth As It Is In Heaven" by Ennio Morricone came on. It's from the soundtrack to the movie The Mission and is this incredible piece that combines orchestra, choir, percussion and a haunting oboe solo. It's incredibly powerful, and as I listened to it while watching the scenery of the Pacific Northwest, I felt overwhelmed by the beauty. I played it several times and then leaned forward, put my ear buds in Fred's ears, told him to look out the window and pushed play. He got it and didn't say a word as he listened to the entire song. "It's almost enough to make one a believer, isn't it?" he asked. Yes, Fred, it is indeed.
We got stuck in the traffic in Seattle, and I started climbing the walls of the truck, thinking I was going to lose my mind if I couldn't get out. So Nancy pulled off the interstate and we stopped at a McDonald's. The weather had cleared a bit. I went in to use the bathroom and get yet more coffee, and when I came out I told Fred I wasn't getting back in the car. "I need to get on my bike," I told him. We were south of downtown.
Fred looked toward the urban center of the city, which was maybe a mile or two from where we were standing. "Wanna ride to Pike's Place?" Oh, hells yeah. When Nancy came out of the restaurant, I was already straddling my bike in full riding mode.
And so it was that Fred and I raced through downtown Seattle on our bikes, weaving in and out of traffic, riding through plazas, looking at the buildings, skirting through the parking lots of Safeco (Mariners) and Century Link (Seahawks) stadiums and loving every minute of it. SO. MUCH. FUN. And we got to walk around Pike's Place Market to boot.
It wasn't the Friday we planned, but it was still a great experience and wildly fun. For me, riding through a city is actually LESS scary than riding along country roads with logging trucks whizzing by. I mean, city drivers are used to watching for cyclists and pedestrians, and the very heaviness of traffic forces them to crawl along slowly. (This is when I hatched the idea to do some kind of urban bike tour, exploring a new city by bike every 2 to 3 days and then moving on to the next city -- it could work!)
When we'd had our fill, we got back in the car and drove the rest of the way to Mount Vernon. That evening we had celebratory dinner where we all toasted each other with champagne and reflected on our epic adventure. (I ate a lot -- because when you are cycling 4-6 hours a day, you CAN eat. That, as Dianne noted weeks before, is a very good reason to keep it up.) I kept trying to think big thoughts about the experience, but found I hadn't yet digested it enough -- it hadn't sunk in that we had actually finished the week and our ride.
I felt surprisingly okay about skipping the final leg of Washington. I guess sometimes you just have to punt, and punting, after all, still brings in points for the team.
One more post to go, blog, to complete you. Thanks for everything -- conclusions to follow.
I woke up on Friday exhilarated from the previous day's success and ready to go. This was it. The final piece that would culminate in a victory ride across the bridge of the Columbia River as we entered Oregon. What a thrill... what a rush... what an ending to an incredible trip... what an accomplishment... what a cold, wet, crappy, rainy, foggy, zero visibility day.
It rained. And rained. And rained and rained and rained. And then it rained some more. And not the rain of the previous days -- the fine mist that permeated everything but caused no real damage or delay. No, this was honest-to-goodness knock down, drag out hard rain. The kind you don't ride in. The kind that makes you stay inside with quilts and movies and popcorns. That kind of rain.
As we ate breakfast, there was a general testiness and anxiety among us, although as usual the conversation was good. When we finished eating, I took over at the wheel, needing the focus on driving to calm my nerves. We headed south on 101, reasoning that we might be able to outdrive the weather and get close enough to at least make the ride into Oregon.
By the time we got to Seaview, which was about 30-40 miles from Astoria, it became pretty clear that there was no way in Hades we were going to complete the ride anytime soon. It wasn't just how wet and slippery everything was; I had a hard time seeing 15 feet in front of me, and I knew that crossing a shoulderless, busy bridge in this rain would be akin to tattooing "Very Stupid" across my forehead.
We stopped at a gas station, filled up, inquired about the nearest latte and considered our options. I knew Fred would defer to whatever decision I made because he was so in tune to the significance of this experience for me.
On one hand, my frustrated perfectionist determination was coming out. I needed to ride across that #$%#$% bridge. On the other, my pragmatism was standing in full arms-crossed, eyebrow-raised skepticism -- this rain wasn't going to stop anytime soon. So did we try to wait it out or not?
I thought about it, going back and forth. Then I found myself thinking about moments throughout the trip... how I felt the very first time I clipped into my pedals on San Juan Island, telling the couple in the pick-up truck we had "only" done a 25 mile ride so far, falling on the road out of Oak Harbor and getting back on my bike, making it over the final hill on the Egg and I, riding into Aberdeen on a high I have never felt in my life, seeing the purples and blues of the sky reflected in the water next to the road, hearing Fred say he never wanted to get in a car again... and then I thought back to the training days, when 6 miles seemed interminable.. the first time I rode back to town from 12 miles out.... riding 30 miles to Viva Naughton and back.... climbing out of the canyon in Grand Junction... all of it.
At that moment, it dawned on me that the bridge to Astoria was not the end all, be all of this trip. In fact, it wasn't an end at all, but rather a beginning of a new lifestyle, new confidence, new goals, new dreams, new things to see and do.
Those thoughts allowed me to calmly, contentedly turn to Nancy and Fred and say, "Let's head back toward Mount Vernon. It's not about the bridge, it's about being on the bike. If it clears up on the way back, we'll get out and ride. It's all good."
And that's exactly what we did. We drove toward Mount Vernon. I reclined in the back seat, looking out the window at the towering pines passing as I listened to music through my ear buds. "On Earth As It Is In Heaven" by Ennio Morricone came on. It's from the soundtrack to the movie The Mission and is this incredible piece that combines orchestra, choir, percussion and a haunting oboe solo. It's incredibly powerful, and as I listened to it while watching the scenery of the Pacific Northwest, I felt overwhelmed by the beauty. I played it several times and then leaned forward, put my ear buds in Fred's ears, told him to look out the window and pushed play. He got it and didn't say a word as he listened to the entire song. "It's almost enough to make one a believer, isn't it?" he asked. Yes, Fred, it is indeed.
We got stuck in the traffic in Seattle, and I started climbing the walls of the truck, thinking I was going to lose my mind if I couldn't get out. So Nancy pulled off the interstate and we stopped at a McDonald's. The weather had cleared a bit. I went in to use the bathroom and get yet more coffee, and when I came out I told Fred I wasn't getting back in the car. "I need to get on my bike," I told him. We were south of downtown.
Fred looked toward the urban center of the city, which was maybe a mile or two from where we were standing. "Wanna ride to Pike's Place?" Oh, hells yeah. When Nancy came out of the restaurant, I was already straddling my bike in full riding mode.
And so it was that Fred and I raced through downtown Seattle on our bikes, weaving in and out of traffic, riding through plazas, looking at the buildings, skirting through the parking lots of Safeco (Mariners) and Century Link (Seahawks) stadiums and loving every minute of it. SO. MUCH. FUN. And we got to walk around Pike's Place Market to boot.
It wasn't the Friday we planned, but it was still a great experience and wildly fun. For me, riding through a city is actually LESS scary than riding along country roads with logging trucks whizzing by. I mean, city drivers are used to watching for cyclists and pedestrians, and the very heaviness of traffic forces them to crawl along slowly. (This is when I hatched the idea to do some kind of urban bike tour, exploring a new city by bike every 2 to 3 days and then moving on to the next city -- it could work!)
When we'd had our fill, we got back in the car and drove the rest of the way to Mount Vernon. That evening we had celebratory dinner where we all toasted each other with champagne and reflected on our epic adventure. (I ate a lot -- because when you are cycling 4-6 hours a day, you CAN eat. That, as Dianne noted weeks before, is a very good reason to keep it up.) I kept trying to think big thoughts about the experience, but found I hadn't yet digested it enough -- it hadn't sunk in that we had actually finished the week and our ride.
I felt surprisingly okay about skipping the final leg of Washington. I guess sometimes you just have to punt, and punting, after all, still brings in points for the team.
One more post to go, blog, to complete you. Thanks for everything -- conclusions to follow.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Day 5 It's All About the Ride
Day 5 was, in a word, extraordinary from a riding standpoint. I originally imagined that our best days would be 1 and 2, and that we would get cycling fatigue in our muscles and minds as the week progressed. I envisioned us having to fight to stay on our bikes in the last few days.
Reality was just the opposite. As the week progressed, we felt stronger and better, able to tolerate more miles with leftover energy. And so it was that Day 5 was our kick-butt day on the bikes. We agreed to meet Nancy in Aberdeen, and headed off down the Elma-Monte (or was it Monte-Elma) Road, a long road that paralleled Highway 12, weaving through little northwestern towns and then stretching out through the countryside.
It was the first day we were able to do a lot of side-by-side riding, thanks to the lack of traffic, bright sunshine and flat terrain. Fred and I both agreed that if only all routes were this easy, we could ride endlessly. In Satsop we took pictures of the cute buildings and chatted while a young couple waited for a bus that went between communities. In the book, Cycling the Pacific Northwest, author Vicki talks about the miles flying by. Indeed.
Before we knew it we were in Aberdeen where we lunched at a Mexican restaurant (Mazatlan) and I nursed my little ice cream habit with a treat at Dairy Queen. Then it was back on the road. I remember the exact scenery, though I am not 100% where it was when Fred commented, "I never want to get back in a car again." That's how I felt as we rode on Day 5. We were flying... I was in my zone, making long, smooth strokes on my bike, shifting easily just at the right time to stay really efficient and effortless on the bike.
What a wonderful way to enjoy the sights... the roads, the trees (oh my, so many trees!), the sky, the orchards, the flowers, the sign we rode past that read, "Correctional Facility. Do not pick up hitchhikers." Well, actually, that last one probably looks better from the seat of a car going about 70 miles per hour... but you get the idea.
We rode into a little town called Bayview. The route turned right toward Westport, but we were staying in Tokeland that night, for which the road went left. It was about 6:00 pm and we sat outside a gas station with a Subway. There was a little picnic table next to the building, which we claimed as we waited for Nancy to come find us. I took my shoes and socks off. Glorious. Truly, there's nothing quite as luxurious as being barefoot after a full day of riding.
We sat there about a half hour and then decided we were game to ride even more. I was torn. On one hand, I was still new enough at this to feel OCD about "the route"... "the instructions"..."the path" laid out by Tom and Vicki. On the other hand, it seemed silly to ride toward Westport only to have to drive back toward Tokeland after.
This was the moment I realized it's more about time on the bike and mileage than the exact lefts and rights. So we hopped back on, clipped in and headed toward Tokeland for another 6 miles or so.
Tokeland, as it turned out, was incredible. We stayed at the Tradewinds on the Bay, where each unit was a darling mini-house, with a bedroom, kitchen, living room and bathroom, and doors in the front and back. We were all immediately regretting that we hadn't booked two nights there.
What a great day. But it was bittersweet, because on one hand it was our most successful day of all, and on the other hand, it showed me that I could have been pushing myself further, harder, more, and here we were at almost the end of the ride and I realized we could have been closer to goal had I figured out my limits sooner. So much still to learn about myself.
Thanks, blog.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Day 4 (the day after the heebie jeebies)
Evening 3 was not nearly as glamorous or glorious as Day 3. On the drive of the route in June, we had met a charming proprietor of a small mom and pop motel. We chatted about the motel, life in the small town of Lilliwaup, and lots more. I was hooked, and took down the name and number of the motel for our ride, then booked the rooms a few weeks before we left.
Unfortunately, one thing I didn't do is actually look at the rooms. Yeah, no bueno. Not especially comfortable, but more distressing, not particularly clean. You know, my brother tells the story of one of his friends whose house is so filthy that when Matt uses the bathroom there, he lifts the toilet seat up with his shoe so he can pee. See, girls don't have that option. But know that I am unhappy anytime I have to clean the toilet at a motel before I can use it. One big ewwwww. I did not sleep well, tossing and turning, worrying about bed bugs and germs.... 'cause once you get the heebie jeebies in an unknown place, it's hard to recover from it.
Enough said.
Another issue. As we were checking into this motel, Fred's cycling shoe came apart, with the sole separating from the rest of it. We considered our options. Fred did not want to take away from our schedule or mileage and suggested riding the rest of the route in his tennis shoes on the side of the pedals that didn't have the clips. Tempting, and selfishly, that would have been nice. But I knew there was no way I would have wanted to do that, and suggested instead that we drive into Olympia first thing in the morning to get new cycling shoes. I reasoned that way he could finish the ride in comfort and strength, and return the faulty shoes when he got back to California.
And so it was that Day 4 began with an adventure into the "big city". (That's what it felt like after all these days of country and small town riding.)
The bicycle shop opened at 10, and we did find a great pair of cycling shoes for him. (It took a few tries. Fred has big feet, and the store did not have several styles in stock in his size.) Anywho, we were ready for breakfast at that point, so the clerk at the cycling shop directed us to a charming little café called New Moon, which was apparently some kind of co-op.
In that café, I proceeded to have the best omelet I've ever had in my entire life. Truly incredible. Each table in the café had a little journal where diners could write their thoughts, or draw, or copy a favorite verse, etc. All three of us contributed some words to the journal on our table, but if you want to know what I wrote, you will have to visit the café!
From there we rode back to Shelton, and Fred and I got on the bikes. It was a fairly easy ride from there to Elma, especially once we got on Highway 12, which was flat and easy with a very wide shoulder. Nonetheless, our impromptu trip to the capital cut out quite a bit of our riding time, so the day was short on mileage. Things happen, right?
The good news was that Evening 4's hotel, the Guest House, was LOVELY.
Night, blog.
Unfortunately, one thing I didn't do is actually look at the rooms. Yeah, no bueno. Not especially comfortable, but more distressing, not particularly clean. You know, my brother tells the story of one of his friends whose house is so filthy that when Matt uses the bathroom there, he lifts the toilet seat up with his shoe so he can pee. See, girls don't have that option. But know that I am unhappy anytime I have to clean the toilet at a motel before I can use it. One big ewwwww. I did not sleep well, tossing and turning, worrying about bed bugs and germs.... 'cause once you get the heebie jeebies in an unknown place, it's hard to recover from it.
Enough said.
Another issue. As we were checking into this motel, Fred's cycling shoe came apart, with the sole separating from the rest of it. We considered our options. Fred did not want to take away from our schedule or mileage and suggested riding the rest of the route in his tennis shoes on the side of the pedals that didn't have the clips. Tempting, and selfishly, that would have been nice. But I knew there was no way I would have wanted to do that, and suggested instead that we drive into Olympia first thing in the morning to get new cycling shoes. I reasoned that way he could finish the ride in comfort and strength, and return the faulty shoes when he got back to California.
And so it was that Day 4 began with an adventure into the "big city". (That's what it felt like after all these days of country and small town riding.)
The bicycle shop opened at 10, and we did find a great pair of cycling shoes for him. (It took a few tries. Fred has big feet, and the store did not have several styles in stock in his size.) Anywho, we were ready for breakfast at that point, so the clerk at the cycling shop directed us to a charming little café called New Moon, which was apparently some kind of co-op.
In that café, I proceeded to have the best omelet I've ever had in my entire life. Truly incredible. Each table in the café had a little journal where diners could write their thoughts, or draw, or copy a favorite verse, etc. All three of us contributed some words to the journal on our table, but if you want to know what I wrote, you will have to visit the café!
From there we rode back to Shelton, and Fred and I got on the bikes. It was a fairly easy ride from there to Elma, especially once we got on Highway 12, which was flat and easy with a very wide shoulder. Nonetheless, our impromptu trip to the capital cut out quite a bit of our riding time, so the day was short on mileage. Things happen, right?
The good news was that Evening 4's hotel, the Guest House, was LOVELY.
Night, blog.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Day 3 - The Egg and I
Day 3 of the journey did not start out well at all. The Best Western we had stayed at the night before had a broken elevator, a broken jacuzzi and a broken laundry detergent vending machine. To add insult to injury, in the morning we all enjoyed the same continental breakfast we'd had at the other two Best Westerns, only to find out that at this one it wasn't complimentary and was going to cost us each $7.95... something we were told after we had consumed it.
As we left Silverdale to head back to Port Townsend where we would pick up our bike route, we stopped at a Starbucks. It was the first time on this trip. Washington is fantastic in that you can hardly go a block without seeing one of those "photo-mart-ish"-sheds-turned-espresso-shops, and until that point all lattes had been purchased at the little sheds (each individually owned) or at quirky little local coffee shops. But in this case, Starbucks was right there, and Fred and I were both looking for a boost.
I got a salted caramel latte that was marginal at best. But Fred's plain old coffee with cream was pretty much the worst cup of coffee either of us had ever tasted. Definitely not up Starbucks' standard and not even close to the delicious coffee that had us spoiled so far. We were trying to find the right words to describe how bad it was... Metallic? Bitter? Stale?
We headed north to our drop point with Nancy driving, me riding shot gun and Fred in the back seat. I could hear him rustling around in the back but got distracted watching the scenery. After a short time he said, "Well, I have a definitive way to describe just how bad this coffee is."
"What's that?" I asked.
"I just spilled some of it in my shoe, and I didn't want to throw it out the window, so I poured it from my shoe back into the cup...and it actually tastes better now." (That comment caused me laugh and spit out the coffee I was drinking.)
When we got near Port Townsend, I had Nancy pull off the road so we could unload the bikes. As we took them off the rack, she noticed at we were actually in a bus stop, where a sign read, "No parking." She was quite worried about it, very likely because by now she knew how long it took Fred and I to get all our gear packed onto the bikes and get moving each time. Happily, no buses approached before we started to ride.
It was a great morning. Overcast and a little misty, but no heavy rain. I felt great...better than I deserved to feel given the previous day's crash. The highway was smooth with wide shoulders, and lined with evergreens and foliage. What a wonderful day to be on a bike.
We rode furiously to Chimacum, an easy, mostly downhill jaunt with the wind at our backs. There were moments there when I felt like I was flying. In Chimacum, Nancy caught up with us and gave us some chain lube she had purchased at a bike shop so we could clean and lube our chains and gears. My gears were still slipping a little, and while I had figured out how to handle it when they did, I was hoping that by cleaning and lubing the chain, I could avoid another crash.
We took off again, heading toward Quilcene on Hwy 19. It was still a fairly easy ride, but now there was tons of traffic, especially truckers, with little-to-no shoulder to keep us out of harm's way. About 20 minutes into it, Nancy drove up and pulled over, telling us we were headed the wrong way, and that we should have turned onto Center Road. We had driven up to the drop point through Quilcene, so I knew the highway we were on would take us there, but we also had to consider the traffic and road safety.
The thought of going all the way back to Chimacum to take the right road wasn't all that pleasant,
though we considered having Nancy drive us back to it and starting over from there. Nancy
consulted the map. "Hmmm... If you take the next right, The Egg and I Road, you can connect to Center after about 2 miles and keep going from there.
That seemed reasonable enough. So we started up again, turning off at Egg.
And that's the thing about maps. Just because it is a nice, flat line on the page in no way means it translates to a nice flat road. About the third extremely steep, miserable hill I had to walk up, I was not thinking the most charitable thoughts about Nancy and her @$&#% iPhone, and was cursing myself for not following my own instincts and staying the course.
But hills notwithstanding, the sights were breathtaking. Up one winding hill, we saw a tiny little shack overgrown with ivy at the end of a long driveway. It had an open doorway and a little built-in bench. I whimsically guessed it was a kissing booth, but Fred correctly surmised it was a homemade bus stop for children who had long since grown up and gone on with their own lives.
This third day was the first where we did some riding into the evening. I loved it. Around 6 pm, the sun was starting to set, and we rode through a wooded area next to a long lake. The purples and pinks in the sky were reflected on the water, and woods had an enchanted silver-lined quality. Magic. I felt strong and content, and at some point during this leg of the ride, I felt my entire body sigh and finally...finally...relax.
It's a great day to be a cyclist, blog.
As we left Silverdale to head back to Port Townsend where we would pick up our bike route, we stopped at a Starbucks. It was the first time on this trip. Washington is fantastic in that you can hardly go a block without seeing one of those "photo-mart-ish"-sheds-turned-espresso-shops, and until that point all lattes had been purchased at the little sheds (each individually owned) or at quirky little local coffee shops. But in this case, Starbucks was right there, and Fred and I were both looking for a boost.
I got a salted caramel latte that was marginal at best. But Fred's plain old coffee with cream was pretty much the worst cup of coffee either of us had ever tasted. Definitely not up Starbucks' standard and not even close to the delicious coffee that had us spoiled so far. We were trying to find the right words to describe how bad it was... Metallic? Bitter? Stale?
We headed north to our drop point with Nancy driving, me riding shot gun and Fred in the back seat. I could hear him rustling around in the back but got distracted watching the scenery. After a short time he said, "Well, I have a definitive way to describe just how bad this coffee is."
"What's that?" I asked.
"I just spilled some of it in my shoe, and I didn't want to throw it out the window, so I poured it from my shoe back into the cup...and it actually tastes better now." (That comment caused me laugh and spit out the coffee I was drinking.)
When we got near Port Townsend, I had Nancy pull off the road so we could unload the bikes. As we took them off the rack, she noticed at we were actually in a bus stop, where a sign read, "No parking." She was quite worried about it, very likely because by now she knew how long it took Fred and I to get all our gear packed onto the bikes and get moving each time. Happily, no buses approached before we started to ride.
It was a great morning. Overcast and a little misty, but no heavy rain. I felt great...better than I deserved to feel given the previous day's crash. The highway was smooth with wide shoulders, and lined with evergreens and foliage. What a wonderful day to be on a bike.
We rode furiously to Chimacum, an easy, mostly downhill jaunt with the wind at our backs. There were moments there when I felt like I was flying. In Chimacum, Nancy caught up with us and gave us some chain lube she had purchased at a bike shop so we could clean and lube our chains and gears. My gears were still slipping a little, and while I had figured out how to handle it when they did, I was hoping that by cleaning and lubing the chain, I could avoid another crash.
We took off again, heading toward Quilcene on Hwy 19. It was still a fairly easy ride, but now there was tons of traffic, especially truckers, with little-to-no shoulder to keep us out of harm's way. About 20 minutes into it, Nancy drove up and pulled over, telling us we were headed the wrong way, and that we should have turned onto Center Road. We had driven up to the drop point through Quilcene, so I knew the highway we were on would take us there, but we also had to consider the traffic and road safety.
The thought of going all the way back to Chimacum to take the right road wasn't all that pleasant,
though we considered having Nancy drive us back to it and starting over from there. Nancy
consulted the map. "Hmmm... If you take the next right, The Egg and I Road, you can connect to Center after about 2 miles and keep going from there.
That seemed reasonable enough. So we started up again, turning off at Egg.
And that's the thing about maps. Just because it is a nice, flat line on the page in no way means it translates to a nice flat road. About the third extremely steep, miserable hill I had to walk up, I was not thinking the most charitable thoughts about Nancy and her @$&#% iPhone, and was cursing myself for not following my own instincts and staying the course.
But hills notwithstanding, the sights were breathtaking. Up one winding hill, we saw a tiny little shack overgrown with ivy at the end of a long driveway. It had an open doorway and a little built-in bench. I whimsically guessed it was a kissing booth, but Fred correctly surmised it was a homemade bus stop for children who had long since grown up and gone on with their own lives.
This third day was the first where we did some riding into the evening. I loved it. Around 6 pm, the sun was starting to set, and we rode through a wooded area next to a long lake. The purples and pinks in the sky were reflected on the water, and woods had an enchanted silver-lined quality. Magic. I felt strong and content, and at some point during this leg of the ride, I felt my entire body sigh and finally...finally...relax.
It's a great day to be a cyclist, blog.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Day 2...Separation Anxiety
Early on today, I decided I am not a huge fan of riding through rain. It rained yesterday, but somehow today was different. Mile after mile of humidity, mist, and pouring rain, complete with limited visibility and darkness. Most of the ride I couldn't tell whether I was wet from the outside in (rain) or the inside out (sweat). Add to that lots of traffic on the two way highways and steep climbs and descents as well as my somewhat irrational but still strong fear of hydroplaning and wiping out, and it made for a harder second day than the first.
We started out from the town of Anacortes, weaving through a residential area on a series of roads that seemed to go up, up, up endlessly. I remembered from driving the course back in June that the first half of the day had lots of climbs, but did not make detailed notes about where they were. About midway through the day we descended into Oak Harbor and had lunch at an Applebee's. In my notes, I had written "Hill!!!!!" right after Oak Harbor. Sure enough, we turned right onto Highway 20 and a tall winding hill was there. Ah ha, I thought, there's the hill I referenced. Halfway up, we turned right onto Scenic Heights Road, and saw a huge hill up in front of us. Ohhh, I thought, that must actually be the hill I noted. We pedaled another half mile and turned again to a monumental hill. Wait...THIS must be the hill.... And so it went for some time after that.
Before we started the ride, Fred and I talked about getting whistles to wear. Due to the heaviness of traffic and narrowness of the shoulders, we knew we would be riding mostly single file. Whistles would be an easy way to signal needing to stop, or "car backs" or other issues. We never did get them, though... Didn't find any at the few stores were we remembered to look.
We discovered today just how helpful they would have been. About 6 miles out of Oak Harbor, Fred was riding ahead of me on Highway 20. He passed a Y intersection, and when I came to it, I saw the road name and realized right away that we needed to turn there. I unclipped myself and stopped, calling and calling Fred's name as loudly as I could. But since we were riding into the wind, there was no way he could hear me, and he continued pushing up a large hill until he disappeared over the horizon.
I called Nancy (thank goodness for Nancy!!!) and told her what had happened, explaining that she should go get Fred, and I would continue along the correct route.
For 10-15 minutes it was heavenly. I rode along the water enjoying the scenery at my own pace. Then I started climbing another steep, winding hill, and all of the sudden, my gears locked and the chain fell off. Before I realized what was happening, my bike lost its momentum and stopped, and I was still clipped into my pedals. I couldn't put my foot down or do anything to salvage the crash. Over I went, into the road...very rough road, at that. It took me a few seconds, lying there, to assess whether I was broken or just bruised. My next immediate panic was disentangling myself from the bike and getting out of the road before I got run over by a car. As I stood up and started to examine my bike, the pain in my body was enough to nauseate me. Within a minute, Fred and Nancy drove up.
Fred jumped out of the car, and I explained what had happened. He set about fixing the chain. I watched for a minute, but then excused myself to go sit in the back of the truck to regain my bearings. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.
Ow.
(A later examination revealed lots of bruising and scrapes with some gravel mixed in...lovely.)
Nancy took us to the top of the hill I had been climbing and we got back on our bikes, me quite gingerly. We began riding, again in wet weather, and as we were climbing into Coupeville, I called to Fred to stop. We pulled over to the side of the road and I started to cry. The adrenaline had finally worn off, and I was now aware of just how much I hurt. As is our custom, Fred just quietly let me
cry, and after five or six minutes, I took a deep breath, said, "Okay", and we we on our way again.
I loved Coupeville for two reasons. First, it was a really cute Victorian town with darling houses, gardens and shops. Second, it was the last little town before the ferry, which was situated right next to Fort Casey. I was so glad to get off my bike, although by then I felt like I was soaked clear through my skin to my very bones.
It occurred to me at some point that this ride has reduced my entire existence to four constant quests: calories, hydration, getting dry, and relief from any one of a given series of aches and pains. So much for my lofty ideas of life revelations and the rebirth of my creativity!
But... I am doing it.
Thanks, blog.
We started out from the town of Anacortes, weaving through a residential area on a series of roads that seemed to go up, up, up endlessly. I remembered from driving the course back in June that the first half of the day had lots of climbs, but did not make detailed notes about where they were. About midway through the day we descended into Oak Harbor and had lunch at an Applebee's. In my notes, I had written "Hill!!!!!" right after Oak Harbor. Sure enough, we turned right onto Highway 20 and a tall winding hill was there. Ah ha, I thought, there's the hill I referenced. Halfway up, we turned right onto Scenic Heights Road, and saw a huge hill up in front of us. Ohhh, I thought, that must actually be the hill I noted. We pedaled another half mile and turned again to a monumental hill. Wait...THIS must be the hill.... And so it went for some time after that.
Before we started the ride, Fred and I talked about getting whistles to wear. Due to the heaviness of traffic and narrowness of the shoulders, we knew we would be riding mostly single file. Whistles would be an easy way to signal needing to stop, or "car backs" or other issues. We never did get them, though... Didn't find any at the few stores were we remembered to look.
We discovered today just how helpful they would have been. About 6 miles out of Oak Harbor, Fred was riding ahead of me on Highway 20. He passed a Y intersection, and when I came to it, I saw the road name and realized right away that we needed to turn there. I unclipped myself and stopped, calling and calling Fred's name as loudly as I could. But since we were riding into the wind, there was no way he could hear me, and he continued pushing up a large hill until he disappeared over the horizon.
I called Nancy (thank goodness for Nancy!!!) and told her what had happened, explaining that she should go get Fred, and I would continue along the correct route.
For 10-15 minutes it was heavenly. I rode along the water enjoying the scenery at my own pace. Then I started climbing another steep, winding hill, and all of the sudden, my gears locked and the chain fell off. Before I realized what was happening, my bike lost its momentum and stopped, and I was still clipped into my pedals. I couldn't put my foot down or do anything to salvage the crash. Over I went, into the road...very rough road, at that. It took me a few seconds, lying there, to assess whether I was broken or just bruised. My next immediate panic was disentangling myself from the bike and getting out of the road before I got run over by a car. As I stood up and started to examine my bike, the pain in my body was enough to nauseate me. Within a minute, Fred and Nancy drove up.
Fred jumped out of the car, and I explained what had happened. He set about fixing the chain. I watched for a minute, but then excused myself to go sit in the back of the truck to regain my bearings. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.
Ow.
(A later examination revealed lots of bruising and scrapes with some gravel mixed in...lovely.)
Nancy took us to the top of the hill I had been climbing and we got back on our bikes, me quite gingerly. We began riding, again in wet weather, and as we were climbing into Coupeville, I called to Fred to stop. We pulled over to the side of the road and I started to cry. The adrenaline had finally worn off, and I was now aware of just how much I hurt. As is our custom, Fred just quietly let me
cry, and after five or six minutes, I took a deep breath, said, "Okay", and we we on our way again.
I loved Coupeville for two reasons. First, it was a really cute Victorian town with darling houses, gardens and shops. Second, it was the last little town before the ferry, which was situated right next to Fort Casey. I was so glad to get off my bike, although by then I felt like I was soaked clear through my skin to my very bones.
It occurred to me at some point that this ride has reduced my entire existence to four constant quests: calories, hydration, getting dry, and relief from any one of a given series of aches and pains. So much for my lofty ideas of life revelations and the rebirth of my creativity!
But... I am doing it.
Thanks, blog.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Day 1 ---- getting into the groove
It may not have been the most auspicious start to our trip. As we rode toward the Anacortes ferry, I couldn't quite decide if I was feeling the enormity of the day and what we were beginning or just the opposite.
We had decided that because of the expense of taking a car across to the island, Nancy (our support driver) would stay on the mainland and Fred and I would just get on the ferry with our bicycles. However, we were running sufficiently behind and the ticket cost for a vehicle and extra passenger was close enough to the expense of two bikes and two riders to even go across on bikes, that we ended up taking the Edge to the island.
Probably a good thing. We parked the car and started loading up our bikes...a process that in our inexperience and disorganization took over an hour..... That's right.. More than 60 minutes. We could have cut a lot of time off that if 1) I hadn't realized right then that my rear tire needed more air, 2) I actually knew how to fill my own tire instead of having had Adam do it every time and not having paid attention to how he did it and 3) we hadn't inadvertently got the pump end stuck on my valve and let all the air out of the tire in the process. After 20 minutes of sit-com ineptitude, I got out the "emergency" CO2 tube of air and attached it to the valves that Fred had finally freed from the pump. Three seconds of Zzzzzzzzzztttt and the tire was full. Amazing.
Once we had everything set to go, Fred realized he had to go to the bathroom again. I told him we'd stop as soon as we saw a place. Four blocks (yes, blocks) later we pulled over at Criminal Coffee. Fred went in to use the bathroom, and I decided I should order something so we weren't just gratuitously using their facility. And that is how it was that 5 minutes into the ride we were enjoying our first break, complete with a latte and pastry.
It was actually delightful if not deserved. The proprietors were an elderly couple who were drinking.. .coffee (what else?) and enjoying the newspaper. Another senior couple sat on the sofa in the shop. We chatted with them about our plans and Fred told them a corny joke. (Polite laughter.) What struck me about the two couples and the two young employees was that they were genuinely glad to see us and happy for our adventure. It was the kind of raw, natural hospitality that cannot be put on...it comes from the heart. Great way to start the day.
We did make more progress after that... Incredible scenery. Lots of green, water, gently rolling hills, really steep hills (one of which we ended up walking), and a really cute resort town called Roche Harbor, where we had a sandwich and watched all the boats rock gently in their docks and passerbys stroll around the piers. We even saw a camel (!!) named Mona and a bunch of alpacas.
We also saw a winery that had a wine tasting going on, but we didn't think we were advanced enough of cyclists to manage the traffic, hills and curves while inebriated. (Yikes!)
After the enormous hill I referenced above, the last seven miles seemed to fly by...easy peasy southern breezy. And that said, I was so happy to see the car when we turned the corner and saw it waiting for us right where we had left it.
We took the ferry back to the Mainland, endeavored to pack better and smarter for Day Two, played some cards with Nancy and voila, it was time to sleep.
I would like to say I had all this time to think deep thoughts and strategize for a better life, but much like Cheryl Strayed in the book Wild, my riding tme was pretty much dominated by watching the road, watching traffic, watching the scenery, and watching Fred weave back and forth across the white boundary of the shoulder from my careful vigil behind him.
Nonetheless, it was a great start to what I hope by Friday can only be called my epic adventure.
We had decided that because of the expense of taking a car across to the island, Nancy (our support driver) would stay on the mainland and Fred and I would just get on the ferry with our bicycles. However, we were running sufficiently behind and the ticket cost for a vehicle and extra passenger was close enough to the expense of two bikes and two riders to even go across on bikes, that we ended up taking the Edge to the island.
Probably a good thing. We parked the car and started loading up our bikes...a process that in our inexperience and disorganization took over an hour..... That's right.. More than 60 minutes. We could have cut a lot of time off that if 1) I hadn't realized right then that my rear tire needed more air, 2) I actually knew how to fill my own tire instead of having had Adam do it every time and not having paid attention to how he did it and 3) we hadn't inadvertently got the pump end stuck on my valve and let all the air out of the tire in the process. After 20 minutes of sit-com ineptitude, I got out the "emergency" CO2 tube of air and attached it to the valves that Fred had finally freed from the pump. Three seconds of Zzzzzzzzzztttt and the tire was full. Amazing.
Once we had everything set to go, Fred realized he had to go to the bathroom again. I told him we'd stop as soon as we saw a place. Four blocks (yes, blocks) later we pulled over at Criminal Coffee. Fred went in to use the bathroom, and I decided I should order something so we weren't just gratuitously using their facility. And that is how it was that 5 minutes into the ride we were enjoying our first break, complete with a latte and pastry.
It was actually delightful if not deserved. The proprietors were an elderly couple who were drinking.. .coffee (what else?) and enjoying the newspaper. Another senior couple sat on the sofa in the shop. We chatted with them about our plans and Fred told them a corny joke. (Polite laughter.) What struck me about the two couples and the two young employees was that they were genuinely glad to see us and happy for our adventure. It was the kind of raw, natural hospitality that cannot be put on...it comes from the heart. Great way to start the day.
We did make more progress after that... Incredible scenery. Lots of green, water, gently rolling hills, really steep hills (one of which we ended up walking), and a really cute resort town called Roche Harbor, where we had a sandwich and watched all the boats rock gently in their docks and passerbys stroll around the piers. We even saw a camel (!!) named Mona and a bunch of alpacas.
We also saw a winery that had a wine tasting going on, but we didn't think we were advanced enough of cyclists to manage the traffic, hills and curves while inebriated. (Yikes!)
After the enormous hill I referenced above, the last seven miles seemed to fly by...easy peasy southern breezy. And that said, I was so happy to see the car when we turned the corner and saw it waiting for us right where we had left it.
We took the ferry back to the Mainland, endeavored to pack better and smarter for Day Two, played some cards with Nancy and voila, it was time to sleep.
I would like to say I had all this time to think deep thoughts and strategize for a better life, but much like Cheryl Strayed in the book Wild, my riding tme was pretty much dominated by watching the road, watching traffic, watching the scenery, and watching Fred weave back and forth across the white boundary of the shoulder from my careful vigil behind him.
Nonetheless, it was a great start to what I hope by Friday can only be called my epic adventure.
Friday, September 13, 2013
On the road...
Well, after all these months of preparation, training, trials and errors, and falls, (Fred, 4; Me, 1) we are on our way to Washington to start our adventure. It is a bittersweet trip, in more ways than one.
Two days ago, my husband's mother passed away unexpectedly after going into cardiac arrest. Adam and Aislynn headed down to Georgia the same day. I had a work obligation that kept me in Kemmerer at least until today, but have been on standby, waiting to see if I needed to follow my family to Atlanta during this difficult time.
In the end, Adam told me to stay the course (no pun intended) and complete the bike trip. "I'm okay, and you have worked too hard on this not to be able to do it now." Supportive and selfless, and so very appreciated, even more so because I know what he is going through, being just one year out from my own mom's passing.
So we are moving forward, albeit a little more heavy-hearted.
Even as I look back at the bikes hanging off their rack and at the impossible amount of bags, gear, suitcases, food, etc. in the back of the car, it's hard to believe we are here and just 38 hours away from The Ride. And I am not kidding about impossible. I'm honestly not sure how we are going to fit our support driver, Nancy, and her luggage in this car.
I blame Fred. He is an incorrigible over packer. This is a man who is on his way to a 323 mile bike ride and wants to bring all his racquetball gear with him, just in case. What?!?!? (We negotiated. I talked him down to just one racquet, two racquetballs and shoes...)
Anyway, I am looking forward to blogging from the route.... As always, thanks, blog.
Two days ago, my husband's mother passed away unexpectedly after going into cardiac arrest. Adam and Aislynn headed down to Georgia the same day. I had a work obligation that kept me in Kemmerer at least until today, but have been on standby, waiting to see if I needed to follow my family to Atlanta during this difficult time.
In the end, Adam told me to stay the course (no pun intended) and complete the bike trip. "I'm okay, and you have worked too hard on this not to be able to do it now." Supportive and selfless, and so very appreciated, even more so because I know what he is going through, being just one year out from my own mom's passing.
So we are moving forward, albeit a little more heavy-hearted.
Even as I look back at the bikes hanging off their rack and at the impossible amount of bags, gear, suitcases, food, etc. in the back of the car, it's hard to believe we are here and just 38 hours away from The Ride. And I am not kidding about impossible. I'm honestly not sure how we are going to fit our support driver, Nancy, and her luggage in this car.
I blame Fred. He is an incorrigible over packer. This is a man who is on his way to a 323 mile bike ride and wants to bring all his racquetball gear with him, just in case. What?!?!? (We negotiated. I talked him down to just one racquet, two racquetballs and shoes...)
Anyway, I am looking forward to blogging from the route.... As always, thanks, blog.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
System Failure
My friend, Mark, warned me it would happen.... that at some point I would forget my shoes were clipped onto my pedals and I would fall over on my bike.
I smiled and nodded, indulging him as he explained HOW I should fall to prevent injury, all the while not really believing it would happen. After all, I reasoned, I already had four post-clipless-pedal rides on my bike and had the clipping in and out of the pedals down to a science. I had a system. About twenty feet before any desired stop, I would swing my ankles out, disengage the clips and set my feet lightly on top of the pedals so I could put one foot down on the ground when I came to a stop.
In fact, so adept was I at this system that I was even compensating for a tighter left clip by always disengaging my right foot first and using that foot to ground myself when stopping so I could take my time getting my left foot out of its binding.
Furthermore, it's not like I am riding down steep, uneven hills on a mountain bike, where at any second I might hit a divot or root and lose my balance. This road biking stuff is easy peasy, and I had pretty much convinced myself that I would be the one person in the history of clips who looked back at the experience and said at the Novice Long Distance Cyclist Awards where I won first place honors, "You know, I never did fall in all the time was learning to ride in clips. It's been amazing."
Yep, you guessed it. I fell yesterday, exactly in the way that Mark predicted. And actually, I almost wish I HAD been mountain biking and hit a divot and crashed down. At least that's understandable and makes for a great story of heroism and endurance. In my case, I rode over thirty miles with lots of starts and stops where I had no problem whatsoever working my clips, and then got to my car at the end of the ride (where my friend Bob was waiting to take me back to the house), came to a stop, forgot I was still in the clips, and down, down I went, almost in slow motion, hitting my helmeted head on the car as I went, slumping painfully onto the ground.
Poor Bob saw my fall and heard my helmet hit the car and jumped out, finding me crumpled in a heap on the passenger side. "I'm okay... I'm okay," I assured him, dazed and mad at myself.
In retrospect, I got off fairly easy with some bumps and bruises. I would have been devastated to make it one week from The Ride, only to break an ankle or wrist and be unable to do the trip.
Later, Fred texted me that he had gotten clipless pedals at the bike store earlier that day. He fell four times in his clips.
Aren't we a pair...
Thanks, blog.
I smiled and nodded, indulging him as he explained HOW I should fall to prevent injury, all the while not really believing it would happen. After all, I reasoned, I already had four post-clipless-pedal rides on my bike and had the clipping in and out of the pedals down to a science. I had a system. About twenty feet before any desired stop, I would swing my ankles out, disengage the clips and set my feet lightly on top of the pedals so I could put one foot down on the ground when I came to a stop.
In fact, so adept was I at this system that I was even compensating for a tighter left clip by always disengaging my right foot first and using that foot to ground myself when stopping so I could take my time getting my left foot out of its binding.
Furthermore, it's not like I am riding down steep, uneven hills on a mountain bike, where at any second I might hit a divot or root and lose my balance. This road biking stuff is easy peasy, and I had pretty much convinced myself that I would be the one person in the history of clips who looked back at the experience and said at the Novice Long Distance Cyclist Awards where I won first place honors, "You know, I never did fall in all the time was learning to ride in clips. It's been amazing."
Yep, you guessed it. I fell yesterday, exactly in the way that Mark predicted. And actually, I almost wish I HAD been mountain biking and hit a divot and crashed down. At least that's understandable and makes for a great story of heroism and endurance. In my case, I rode over thirty miles with lots of starts and stops where I had no problem whatsoever working my clips, and then got to my car at the end of the ride (where my friend Bob was waiting to take me back to the house), came to a stop, forgot I was still in the clips, and down, down I went, almost in slow motion, hitting my helmeted head on the car as I went, slumping painfully onto the ground.
Poor Bob saw my fall and heard my helmet hit the car and jumped out, finding me crumpled in a heap on the passenger side. "I'm okay... I'm okay," I assured him, dazed and mad at myself.
In retrospect, I got off fairly easy with some bumps and bruises. I would have been devastated to make it one week from The Ride, only to break an ankle or wrist and be unable to do the trip.
Later, Fred texted me that he had gotten clipless pedals at the bike store earlier that day. He fell four times in his clips.
Aren't we a pair...
Thanks, blog.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Not One Little Bit
The sun did not shine.
It was too wet to play.
So we sat in the house. All that cold, cold, wet day.
I sat there with Sally.
We sat there, we two. And I said, “How I wish we had something to do!”
Too wet to go out, and too cold to play ball. So we sat in the house. We did nothing at all.
So all we could do was to Sit! Sit! Sit! Sit! And we did not like it. Not one little bit.
Okay, I admit that is from Dr. Seuss, The Cat in the Hat. But it pretty accurately describes how I feel. It has been overcast, rainy and windy all day. There was a break in the weather around 5:00, but just as I was leaving work, a delivery guy showed up with a large order. By the time I got home, I could see large amounts of rain falling to the south. "Adam," I asked, "how far away do you think that is?"
Adam looked out toward the mountains and guessed forty miles.
"So do you think if I drive 20 miles out I could..."
"Nope."
We went inside and Aislynn told me all about her first day of school. I looked outside again. "Adam, do you think it's actually moving northwest? Maybe it will go right past us."
"Hmmm..maybe," he said, doubtfully.
Then we heard thunder. And then it started pouring. "Okay, we'll wait five minutes," I told him.
About ten minutes later, I looked out the window again and saw it clear way off to the south. "Let's go," I announced, reasoning that if we drove south toward Evanston, the weather would get better as we went, and I would end up chasing the storm instead of it chasing me. Adam went down to put the bike on the truck while I filled two water bottles and finished clipping my cycling shoes. When I came out into the garage, he looked at me and shook his head.
"I think it's blowing west and north. I think it's okay." Yeah, I know. Even to my own ears I sounded ridiculous and desperate.
Lightening struck. Twice. The wind continued to gust.
Adam stepped outside, into the wind that was blowing directly into his face... From the west.
I knew then that the jig was up. By the time the storm blew over, it would be too late and too dark to ride.
And I didn't like it...not one little bit.
Darn it, blog.
I sat there with Sally.
We sat there, we two. And I said, “How I wish we had something to do!”
Too wet to go out, and too cold to play ball. So we sat in the house. We did nothing at all.
So all we could do was to Sit! Sit! Sit! Sit! And we did not like it. Not one little bit.
Okay, I admit that is from Dr. Seuss, The Cat in the Hat. But it pretty accurately describes how I feel. It has been overcast, rainy and windy all day. There was a break in the weather around 5:00, but just as I was leaving work, a delivery guy showed up with a large order. By the time I got home, I could see large amounts of rain falling to the south. "Adam," I asked, "how far away do you think that is?"
Adam looked out toward the mountains and guessed forty miles.
"So do you think if I drive 20 miles out I could..."
"Nope."
We went inside and Aislynn told me all about her first day of school. I looked outside again. "Adam, do you think it's actually moving northwest? Maybe it will go right past us."
"Hmmm..maybe," he said, doubtfully.
Then we heard thunder. And then it started pouring. "Okay, we'll wait five minutes," I told him.
About ten minutes later, I looked out the window again and saw it clear way off to the south. "Let's go," I announced, reasoning that if we drove south toward Evanston, the weather would get better as we went, and I would end up chasing the storm instead of it chasing me. Adam went down to put the bike on the truck while I filled two water bottles and finished clipping my cycling shoes. When I came out into the garage, he looked at me and shook his head.
"I think it's blowing west and north. I think it's okay." Yeah, I know. Even to my own ears I sounded ridiculous and desperate.
Lightening struck. Twice. The wind continued to gust.
Adam stepped outside, into the wind that was blowing directly into his face... From the west.
I knew then that the jig was up. By the time the storm blew over, it would be too late and too dark to ride.
And I didn't like it...not one little bit.
Darn it, blog.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Two Week Countdown
Two weeks from today, and pretty much this hour, I will be starting the first few miles of my 300+ mile ride. It is so odd how time both speeds up and slows down when something important in our lives gets close.
As I write this, Adam is putting my brand new clipless pedals on my bike, and screwing the corresponding cleats onto my new cycling shoes. Today and tomorrow will be all about learning to get in and out of them without falling over...something I am pretty apprehensive about. But once I get used to them, they should make my pedal strokes more efficient, as I can maximize my muscles' ability to both push down and pull up through each revolution. That will be helpful on those 50-60 mile days.
I can feel this journey shifting from the a physical game to a mental one. All of the sudden, I am running what-if scenarios and trying to anticipate potential plan Bs, making lots of lists, coaching myself through imagined good and bad performance, taking lots and lots of notes, etc. I even try to prepare myself for the fact that I cannot and probably will not be prepared for everything.
Yesterday I had a flashback to that first ride (in my granny sweater) where Adam took me 12 miles outside of town and dropped me off to ride home. Wow. Today, 12 miles is a short, sweet, leisurely ride, and I have now ridden up and down all manner of Wyoming highways. Its amazing.
So here we go...two more weeks of prep and planning and I will be out doing the thing I envisioned 15 months ago in that little bookstore on Bainbridge Island.
Thanks so much, blog. You will be my memory and record of all of it.
As I write this, Adam is putting my brand new clipless pedals on my bike, and screwing the corresponding cleats onto my new cycling shoes. Today and tomorrow will be all about learning to get in and out of them without falling over...something I am pretty apprehensive about. But once I get used to them, they should make my pedal strokes more efficient, as I can maximize my muscles' ability to both push down and pull up through each revolution. That will be helpful on those 50-60 mile days.
I can feel this journey shifting from the a physical game to a mental one. All of the sudden, I am running what-if scenarios and trying to anticipate potential plan Bs, making lots of lists, coaching myself through imagined good and bad performance, taking lots and lots of notes, etc. I even try to prepare myself for the fact that I cannot and probably will not be prepared for everything.
Yesterday I had a flashback to that first ride (in my granny sweater) where Adam took me 12 miles outside of town and dropped me off to ride home. Wow. Today, 12 miles is a short, sweet, leisurely ride, and I have now ridden up and down all manner of Wyoming highways. Its amazing.
So here we go...two more weeks of prep and planning and I will be out doing the thing I envisioned 15 months ago in that little bookstore on Bainbridge Island.
Thanks so much, blog. You will be my memory and record of all of it.
Friday, August 30, 2013
I Don't Give A Rat's @$$
In truth, I care very much...about just about everything in my life, and probably yours. But that little expression is one of my guilty pleasures.
Secretly, I love it. I'm not sure why, since it is pretty far outside of the way I talk. But every single time someone prefaces a statement with that little gem, I feel an uncontrollable giggle start in my diaphragm, up up up until it escapes out my lips, thereby kind of ruining the moment, whatever it is.
I mean, what does that mean anyway? Who came up with that expression? Maybe it's funny simply in its randomness. Why does it have to be a RAT?
I especially love it when my sister Rebecca says it, because she adds in these little descriptive snacks, like, "I don't give a TINY rat's ass..." And when we are on the phone, even in the midst of whatever she's complaining about, I can literally HEAR the corners of her mouth turning upward as she says the words, which shows they amuse her as much as they amuse me.
It's kind of dangerous, though. A friend of mine in Kemmerer got a little religious/political with it, saying, "I don't give a Mormon rat's ass". Thanks -- you know who you are. Now we're all going to Hell.
But the thing is, I can't really adopt it because it just doesn't sound natural when I say it, like I'm trying too hard. Wyoming may have roughened my soft edges a little, but there's a limit to what I can embody without sounding affected.
Maybe if I were to practice.... In my house, in my kitchen, in my office, in my car, well, not at church, but just about everywhere else, so that when I get done with this 323 mile bike ride, I could come home and preface almost every conversation with, "I don't give a rat's ass about ________________________ (fill in the blank)!!!!! I just finished 323 miles on a bike in 6 days. That's right. Not a TINY rat's ass.
Do you think I'm overestimating the satisfaction I'll get from it? You do? Yeah? Well, I don't give a .... nope, still not there for me.
In truth, the ONLY thing coming out of my mouth when I finish will be thank you....God......thank you.....blog........thank you.......loved ones....
(Unless I don't give a.......). Ok, ok...it does lose its funniness if overused.
Nite, blog.
Secretly, I love it. I'm not sure why, since it is pretty far outside of the way I talk. But every single time someone prefaces a statement with that little gem, I feel an uncontrollable giggle start in my diaphragm, up up up until it escapes out my lips, thereby kind of ruining the moment, whatever it is.
I mean, what does that mean anyway? Who came up with that expression? Maybe it's funny simply in its randomness. Why does it have to be a RAT?
I especially love it when my sister Rebecca says it, because she adds in these little descriptive snacks, like, "I don't give a TINY rat's ass..." And when we are on the phone, even in the midst of whatever she's complaining about, I can literally HEAR the corners of her mouth turning upward as she says the words, which shows they amuse her as much as they amuse me.
It's kind of dangerous, though. A friend of mine in Kemmerer got a little religious/political with it, saying, "I don't give a Mormon rat's ass". Thanks -- you know who you are. Now we're all going to Hell.
But the thing is, I can't really adopt it because it just doesn't sound natural when I say it, like I'm trying too hard. Wyoming may have roughened my soft edges a little, but there's a limit to what I can embody without sounding affected.
Maybe if I were to practice.... In my house, in my kitchen, in my office, in my car, well, not at church, but just about everywhere else, so that when I get done with this 323 mile bike ride, I could come home and preface almost every conversation with, "I don't give a rat's ass about ________________________ (fill in the blank)!!!!! I just finished 323 miles on a bike in 6 days. That's right. Not a TINY rat's ass.
Do you think I'm overestimating the satisfaction I'll get from it? You do? Yeah? Well, I don't give a .... nope, still not there for me.
In truth, the ONLY thing coming out of my mouth when I finish will be thank you....God......thank you.....blog........thank you.......loved ones....
(Unless I don't give a.......). Ok, ok...it does lose its funniness if overused.
Nite, blog.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Investment in Life
Gosh, it is getting so close now. Three weeks to go. I find myself shifting from the long-term, general training to trying to work out all the logistics -- what equipment I still need, booking motel rooms, figuring out what to pack, wanting to practice with panniers and gear on the bike, etc. Adam and I are perusing all kinds of internet sites looking for everything from a rain-proof jacket to energy gummy snacks. I've been searching map sites, trying to find some good cycling maps to print out for my handlebar map and phone case (that I also still have to get...)
It's a little overwhelming. To that point, I was driving my friend's daughter, Braelyn, home the other day, and was asking her if she would rather come to the Event Center and work on a craft instead. "No," she said, "I think I am just going to go home." I asked what she was going to do once she got there. "Maybe play with my babies and watch a movie. And I'm going to talk to Miley (their shih tzu) about my feelings, because I have a lot of feelings today!"
I feel ya, Braelyn! I have a lot of feelings, too! I'm excited, nervous, determined, afraid, proud, worried, restless, apprehensive and everything in-between.
But one cool thing, when we take Aislynn down to Salt Lake to do school shopping next week, it will be like school shopping for me, too, but for the School of Long Distance Cycling. Have you ever tried a new sport or activity where you needed to buy new clothes and gear? I always love that feeling of being "official" once I make those purchases... like a Real Athlete. I'm looking forward to that piece.
I was lamenting to my stepmom, Sandy, about the cost of cycling as a hobby. Soooo expensive. She didn't miss a beat. "Sweetheart, you need to look at this as a wonderful investment in you. Look at what you are accomplishing and how you are feeling. This is money toward an active and fulfilling life." Love her. Spot on.
So, for now I will plan, strategize and keep getting on the bike. And get some shopping in, too -- hoorah! One step at a time.
Thanks, blog.
It's a little overwhelming. To that point, I was driving my friend's daughter, Braelyn, home the other day, and was asking her if she would rather come to the Event Center and work on a craft instead. "No," she said, "I think I am just going to go home." I asked what she was going to do once she got there. "Maybe play with my babies and watch a movie. And I'm going to talk to Miley (their shih tzu) about my feelings, because I have a lot of feelings today!"
I feel ya, Braelyn! I have a lot of feelings, too! I'm excited, nervous, determined, afraid, proud, worried, restless, apprehensive and everything in-between.
But one cool thing, when we take Aislynn down to Salt Lake to do school shopping next week, it will be like school shopping for me, too, but for the School of Long Distance Cycling. Have you ever tried a new sport or activity where you needed to buy new clothes and gear? I always love that feeling of being "official" once I make those purchases... like a Real Athlete. I'm looking forward to that piece.
I was lamenting to my stepmom, Sandy, about the cost of cycling as a hobby. Soooo expensive. She didn't miss a beat. "Sweetheart, you need to look at this as a wonderful investment in you. Look at what you are accomplishing and how you are feeling. This is money toward an active and fulfilling life." Love her. Spot on.
So, for now I will plan, strategize and keep getting on the bike. And get some shopping in, too -- hoorah! One step at a time.
Thanks, blog.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Oh Yes I AM!!!!!
I had lunch yesterday with my friend, Mark -- a rare treat these days in between the activities and responsibilities of our professional and private lives. We had "cause"... Mark is an integral help in planning and executing the Kemmerer leg of the International Pedigree Stage Stop Sled Dog Race, and planning is already underway for the 2014 race.
As the city's Cultural Arts and Events Director, I was asked to "bring the sled dog race" back to Kemmerer. Until that time, the only sled dogs I'd seen in my entire life were Mark and Doris' eight rascals, and our entire relationship consists of them putting their noses up my skirt and me squealing, jumping back and pushing them away. That lasts exactly as long as it takes the pack to realize that our little Charly -- our seven-pound Pomapoo-- is with us. Then the rest of the visit is all about the Hunt. (One guess as to who is the "hunted".)
Anyway, suffice to say I was bumbling my way through the race preparations last year until I got Mark's guidance, communication and hard work.
I saw Mark and Doris last night at the City picnic, too. Mark has been extremely supportive of my cycling journey. I told them about explaining to a Councilman with great enthusiasm the bike ride I am doing next month, only to have the Councilman give me a skeptical once over. Down, down, down went his eyes, and then up, up, up they came, followed by an uncomfortably-long pause. "You think I am too chubby to do this.." I said for him.
"Oh no... no.. I mean, I would be too chubby to do it," he said, patting his stomach. Nice save. This man has a body fat percentage of about 10. My friends were laughing as I recounted the awkwardness. Another friend of mine, Natasia, jumped in about my cute little helmet that she sees all over the city as I ride. "You're just sooo safe, with your little helmet and your little gloves...." Uh huh...Wait til she sees the fluorescent orange and green vest my sweet friend Nancy just brought me. Even Adam teased that I am probably a little too worried about being seen by motorists. (Is that another fat joke??)
Anyway, I took it all with good nature because I feel so good about what I have accomplished and where I am now. And my reward was at the end of the lunch when Mark said, "I just can't get over how much better you look now than when you first got here. Not just the weight you've lost, but everything. You look healthier. You sound better. It's everything."
(What's not to love about a friend like that??)
So, okay world, I may look silly in my biking gear, and spandex just may not be my best style... but I...AM....DOING...IT. And you know why?
....because I can.
Thanks, blog.
As the city's Cultural Arts and Events Director, I was asked to "bring the sled dog race" back to Kemmerer. Until that time, the only sled dogs I'd seen in my entire life were Mark and Doris' eight rascals, and our entire relationship consists of them putting their noses up my skirt and me squealing, jumping back and pushing them away. That lasts exactly as long as it takes the pack to realize that our little Charly -- our seven-pound Pomapoo-- is with us. Then the rest of the visit is all about the Hunt. (One guess as to who is the "hunted".)
Anyway, suffice to say I was bumbling my way through the race preparations last year until I got Mark's guidance, communication and hard work.
I saw Mark and Doris last night at the City picnic, too. Mark has been extremely supportive of my cycling journey. I told them about explaining to a Councilman with great enthusiasm the bike ride I am doing next month, only to have the Councilman give me a skeptical once over. Down, down, down went his eyes, and then up, up, up they came, followed by an uncomfortably-long pause. "You think I am too chubby to do this.." I said for him.
"Oh no... no.. I mean, I would be too chubby to do it," he said, patting his stomach. Nice save. This man has a body fat percentage of about 10. My friends were laughing as I recounted the awkwardness. Another friend of mine, Natasia, jumped in about my cute little helmet that she sees all over the city as I ride. "You're just sooo safe, with your little helmet and your little gloves...." Uh huh...Wait til she sees the fluorescent orange and green vest my sweet friend Nancy just brought me. Even Adam teased that I am probably a little too worried about being seen by motorists. (Is that another fat joke??)
Anyway, I took it all with good nature because I feel so good about what I have accomplished and where I am now. And my reward was at the end of the lunch when Mark said, "I just can't get over how much better you look now than when you first got here. Not just the weight you've lost, but everything. You look healthier. You sound better. It's everything."
(What's not to love about a friend like that??)
So, okay world, I may look silly in my biking gear, and spandex just may not be my best style... but I...AM....DOING...IT. And you know why?
....because I can.
Thanks, blog.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Sometimes I just wish I could curse.
Stupid wind. 11 miles in a strong, Wyoming headwind is a long, arduous, depressing process that does not exactly ingratiate one to the joys of cycling.
Despite the fact that I felt good about my 44 mile weekend, I feel kind of pissy about riding at the moment. So... in no particular order...
Weather.com, for two days now you have insisted that the wind was coming WSW at 10 mph, when I can ASSURE you that it was, in fact blowing from the WNW at 25 mph... enough to exhaust me and make for two white-knuckled, tough rides. I'm not sure who your meteorologist is, but I would like some input before you nominate him/her for the accuracy award this year. Here's a tip. Get on a bike for ten minutes and you'll know exactly what the weather is doing.
And let me just say to the truck driver who inexplicably thought it was cool to come up behind me at 70 mph and honk your obnoxious foghorn just as you passed, YOU SUCK. Maybe you're not aware of the fact that it is hella scary riding on a highway shoulder to begin with, and that your blankety-blank 18 wheeler causes enough wind as you pass to make my bike jump sideways in your wake, or maybe you're just a jerk. In any case, it was NOT appreciated, and if the wind hadn't been wreaking its havoc, I would have written down the number on your "How's my driving" bumper sticker and given whoever had the bad misfortune of answering my call an earful.
Finally, hey Utah driver of the Kia Sorento heading southbound on 189 around 3:20 pm, would it really kill you to give three feet of space to cyclists just to be on the safe side? I realize I am riding on the shoulder rather than in the road, but you were still cutting it pretty close there. YOU ARE BIGGER THAN ME, and I think I am correct in saying that clipping a cyclist and killing or maiming said cyclist would adversely affect the rest of your life.
(All that being said, I want to extend a sincere thank you to the driver of the pick-up truck who slowed down and rolled down a window to check on me when I had pulled into the rest area to check my gears yesterday. I have found the majority of motorists to be courteous and friendly on the road, which is especially comforting for us "novice" riders.)
Kay. 'Nuff said. Thanks, blog. Tomorrow will be better, I promise.
Despite the fact that I felt good about my 44 mile weekend, I feel kind of pissy about riding at the moment. So... in no particular order...
Weather.com, for two days now you have insisted that the wind was coming WSW at 10 mph, when I can ASSURE you that it was, in fact blowing from the WNW at 25 mph... enough to exhaust me and make for two white-knuckled, tough rides. I'm not sure who your meteorologist is, but I would like some input before you nominate him/her for the accuracy award this year. Here's a tip. Get on a bike for ten minutes and you'll know exactly what the weather is doing.
And let me just say to the truck driver who inexplicably thought it was cool to come up behind me at 70 mph and honk your obnoxious foghorn just as you passed, YOU SUCK. Maybe you're not aware of the fact that it is hella scary riding on a highway shoulder to begin with, and that your blankety-blank 18 wheeler causes enough wind as you pass to make my bike jump sideways in your wake, or maybe you're just a jerk. In any case, it was NOT appreciated, and if the wind hadn't been wreaking its havoc, I would have written down the number on your "How's my driving" bumper sticker and given whoever had the bad misfortune of answering my call an earful.
Finally, hey Utah driver of the Kia Sorento heading southbound on 189 around 3:20 pm, would it really kill you to give three feet of space to cyclists just to be on the safe side? I realize I am riding on the shoulder rather than in the road, but you were still cutting it pretty close there. YOU ARE BIGGER THAN ME, and I think I am correct in saying that clipping a cyclist and killing or maiming said cyclist would adversely affect the rest of your life.
(All that being said, I want to extend a sincere thank you to the driver of the pick-up truck who slowed down and rolled down a window to check on me when I had pulled into the rest area to check my gears yesterday. I have found the majority of motorists to be courteous and friendly on the road, which is especially comforting for us "novice" riders.)
Kay. 'Nuff said. Thanks, blog. Tomorrow will be better, I promise.
A Little Bit of Everything
The title of this blog entry is also the title of a song by Dawes. It caught my attention the first time I heard it because the middle verse talks about a man standing in a buffet line trying to make up for everything missing in his life through the food he orders:
"I want a little bit of everything,
The biscuits and the beans,
Whatever helps me to forget about
The things that brought me to my knees,
So pile on those mashed potatoes,
And an extra chicken wing,
I'm having a little bit of everything."
Man, can I relate to that (except for the extra chicken wing.. I have always found them gross.) Food is such a complicated thing. Fred and I were talking about food addiction, nutrition, health, emotional eating -- all of it -- when we were on the 30 mile ride in Grand Junction. It was an intense conversation, and an awkward one for me. I mean, as proud as I am of the work I have done with my body and spirit, the question that still hangs in the air like LA smog is, how could I let myself get to 350 pounds to begin with? How could I have done that to my own body? My own emotions? And let's face it: I still have a ways to go and still struggle daily with food issues (or demons, as I sometimes think of them.)
Not an easy conversation to have with anyone who has always been fit and has never had a weight or eating problem. How to explain to an always slim, always active 70-year-old the craziness of trying to eat your way un-unhappy, unbored, unlonely, unstressed, un-everything, when the eating itself is causing you to be unhealthy, unhappy, inactive, lonely and stressed?
Really, it's no different than trying to self-medicate with cigarettes, marijuana, alcohol, heroine, etc. Well, actually, there is one huge difference. One can resolve to never again touch any of the items in the above list, but one cannot decide never to eat again. A food addiction cannot be avoided... it must be managed, and I think that may make it harder to overcome than the others.
So, I guess I am managing it better now than I was three, five, ten years ago. But I would sure like to get to a place where it's not an everyday struggle... I would sure like to take the time and energy I expend thinking about, worrying about, micromanaging food and put it to more important, productive, creative things in my life. I have to believe I will get there one day.
"I want a little bit of everything,
The biscuits and the beans,
Whatever helps me to forget about
The things that brought me to my knees,
So pile on those mashed potatoes,
And an extra chicken wing,
I'm having a little bit of everything."
Man, can I relate to that (except for the extra chicken wing.. I have always found them gross.) Food is such a complicated thing. Fred and I were talking about food addiction, nutrition, health, emotional eating -- all of it -- when we were on the 30 mile ride in Grand Junction. It was an intense conversation, and an awkward one for me. I mean, as proud as I am of the work I have done with my body and spirit, the question that still hangs in the air like LA smog is, how could I let myself get to 350 pounds to begin with? How could I have done that to my own body? My own emotions? And let's face it: I still have a ways to go and still struggle daily with food issues (or demons, as I sometimes think of them.)
Not an easy conversation to have with anyone who has always been fit and has never had a weight or eating problem. How to explain to an always slim, always active 70-year-old the craziness of trying to eat your way un-unhappy, unbored, unlonely, unstressed, un-everything, when the eating itself is causing you to be unhealthy, unhappy, inactive, lonely and stressed?
Really, it's no different than trying to self-medicate with cigarettes, marijuana, alcohol, heroine, etc. Well, actually, there is one huge difference. One can resolve to never again touch any of the items in the above list, but one cannot decide never to eat again. A food addiction cannot be avoided... it must be managed, and I think that may make it harder to overcome than the others.
So, I guess I am managing it better now than I was three, five, ten years ago. But I would sure like to get to a place where it's not an everyday struggle... I would sure like to take the time and energy I expend thinking about, worrying about, micromanaging food and put it to more important, productive, creative things in my life. I have to believe I will get there one day.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Easy Peasy
That was my 30-mile ride today. Easy Peasy Southern Breezy (as my daughter used to say before she got too cool.) I rode from the southwestern end of State Highway 28 to Farson, WY, which not-so-coincidentally is the "Home of the Big Cone". I mean, really, what's not to love about ice cream at the end of two hours of cycling?
Anyway, if you would have told me two months ago that I would be breezing through a 30-mile ride with energy (if not sit bones) to spare, I would have said you were "outta yer mind." And yet, voila, here we are and OH YES I DID.
Adam and Aislynn dropped me off at the start of the route and then drove on to Farson, had a little lunch and started on their own bikes the opposite direction on 28 toward me. I felt crazy good about the fact that when I met up with them I had 24 miles under my belt. I felt even better about the fact that Adam and Aislynn both rode 12 miles (6 to me and 6 with me back to Farson), which means we were out there getting active together, as a family. Whoo hoo!
The ride is mostly a view of sagebrush with the Wind River Range (I think) off in the distance. But I did get close enough to an antelope to cough a little on his dust when he finally leaped away from me. That probably puts me in a pretty small percentage of riders. (In Cody I got similarly close to a golden eagle. Isn't it incredible that these are commonplace views out here??? That's the glory in the Wild, Wild, West.)
I felt sufficiently good today to begin visualizing that final ride across the bridge to Astoria, Oregon in September. I thought I about how I will feel and what it will mean to this journey and to my life as I move forward. I guess some people would call that counting chickens, but I think it's important to imagine that moment so that it becomes cemented in my mind's eye as not only a goal, but something that can and will be accomplished.
I'm feeling so thankful for and inspired by the people in my life who have taken interest in this "project". My friend Janelle is in Alaska, doing a marathon. She is a fitness maniac, and really has "her stuff" together. And yet she has taken time to encourage me and has genuinely been excited for me as I train for the ride.
Layne is a master cyclist. He has ridden his bicycle across this great nation, not to mention internationally. He is an incredible writer, performer, artist, and still he has been generous with his words and spirit as he has followed this blog.
Peter and Dianne are avid cyclists who embraced this "newbie", opening their home to my family and taking time to ride with Fred and I, sharing their insights, advice, experience and knowledge.
Fred is a nationally ranked racquetball player with international and national championships on his resume. He plays in tournaments all over the country throughout the year, and has taken time out of his normal drill and playing time to prepare for this trip so that he can do it with me. And his sister, Nancy, is taking a week out of her life to drive support vehicle to ensure the ride is as safe and comfortable as possible.
The list goes on, from my husband and daughter who are cheering me on daily, to my sister and brother who listen to every sordid detail of the affair and alternately sympathize or celebrate with me, to all of you who have so sweetly have read these blog posts and offered your comments and support. This whole journey has been just one example of the many ways my cup runs over.
So, in the tradition of Facebook, "Jennifer Lasik is feeling....... grateful."
Thanks, blog.
Anyway, if you would have told me two months ago that I would be breezing through a 30-mile ride with energy (if not sit bones) to spare, I would have said you were "outta yer mind." And yet, voila, here we are and OH YES I DID.
Adam and Aislynn dropped me off at the start of the route and then drove on to Farson, had a little lunch and started on their own bikes the opposite direction on 28 toward me. I felt crazy good about the fact that when I met up with them I had 24 miles under my belt. I felt even better about the fact that Adam and Aislynn both rode 12 miles (6 to me and 6 with me back to Farson), which means we were out there getting active together, as a family. Whoo hoo!
The ride is mostly a view of sagebrush with the Wind River Range (I think) off in the distance. But I did get close enough to an antelope to cough a little on his dust when he finally leaped away from me. That probably puts me in a pretty small percentage of riders. (In Cody I got similarly close to a golden eagle. Isn't it incredible that these are commonplace views out here??? That's the glory in the Wild, Wild, West.)
I felt sufficiently good today to begin visualizing that final ride across the bridge to Astoria, Oregon in September. I thought I about how I will feel and what it will mean to this journey and to my life as I move forward. I guess some people would call that counting chickens, but I think it's important to imagine that moment so that it becomes cemented in my mind's eye as not only a goal, but something that can and will be accomplished.
I'm feeling so thankful for and inspired by the people in my life who have taken interest in this "project". My friend Janelle is in Alaska, doing a marathon. She is a fitness maniac, and really has "her stuff" together. And yet she has taken time to encourage me and has genuinely been excited for me as I train for the ride.
Layne is a master cyclist. He has ridden his bicycle across this great nation, not to mention internationally. He is an incredible writer, performer, artist, and still he has been generous with his words and spirit as he has followed this blog.
Peter and Dianne are avid cyclists who embraced this "newbie", opening their home to my family and taking time to ride with Fred and I, sharing their insights, advice, experience and knowledge.
Fred is a nationally ranked racquetball player with international and national championships on his resume. He plays in tournaments all over the country throughout the year, and has taken time out of his normal drill and playing time to prepare for this trip so that he can do it with me. And his sister, Nancy, is taking a week out of her life to drive support vehicle to ensure the ride is as safe and comfortable as possible.
The list goes on, from my husband and daughter who are cheering me on daily, to my sister and brother who listen to every sordid detail of the affair and alternately sympathize or celebrate with me, to all of you who have so sweetly have read these blog posts and offered your comments and support. This whole journey has been just one example of the many ways my cup runs over.
So, in the tradition of Facebook, "Jennifer Lasik is feeling....... grateful."
Thanks, blog.
Friday, August 9, 2013
A "Real" Cyclist
Tuesday night I left Kemmerer to travel to Cody for Wyoming Arts Alliance and Wyoming Arts Council board meetings. I wanted to bring my bike so that I wouldn't lose a whole week of riding. It took some "doing".
First, I packed a big duffel bag full of clothes and equipment: cycling shirts and shorts, lots of socks, my neon green nylon wind breaker, helmet, gloves, shoes, water bottles, baseball caps, gloves, energy gels and snacks, sunglasses, sunscreen, bug spray. Whew... I'm slowly learning to work off a check list and to be more organized with my newfound sport, especially after a couple rides that got uncomfortable because I didn't have the supplies I needed along the way.
The duffel bag was in addition to the suitcase with my business clothes, the bag with all my "beauty maintenance" items, the tote with my laptop, tablet, agenda book, board binder, and my purse. I am pretty sure the car was a few inches lower with the weight of all my gear, and I admit I did have a concern or two about turning into a bag lady.
Then, of course, the bike rack and bike itself had to be mounted on the car.
It was quite a process.
But I rode. I took the time to pack my professional clothes and send them with a colleague so I could do an hour-long ride in the mornings, ride to the meeting sites, and get cleaned up and presentable at those sites. Cody has an upper and lower section, which denotes a pretty decent climb from one section to the other. I am proud to say that after my adventures in Grand Junction and all the advice and encouragement from my new friends Peter and Dianne, I not only did not avoid those climbs, but sought them out. That's right. My new perspective was, "Oooooh, there's a climb. I'm doing it! It's good for me!" (True.)
So.... I am s-t-r-e-t-c-h-I-n-g and GROWING. Feels pretty damn good, to tell you the truth. (Aches and pains notwithstanding..)
I'm not going to lie. Working cycling into travel, meetings and daily life is a time-consuming and fussy project, and often means making choices about where my time is best spent. I'm hoping that as I make it a priority, more and more it will become second nature and a quick process that highlights organization and efficiency, two pieces still lacking as far as I am concerned.
The upside? I am starting to feel like a "real" cyclist and an "active person" -- way exciting.
Thanks, blog.
First, I packed a big duffel bag full of clothes and equipment: cycling shirts and shorts, lots of socks, my neon green nylon wind breaker, helmet, gloves, shoes, water bottles, baseball caps, gloves, energy gels and snacks, sunglasses, sunscreen, bug spray. Whew... I'm slowly learning to work off a check list and to be more organized with my newfound sport, especially after a couple rides that got uncomfortable because I didn't have the supplies I needed along the way.
The duffel bag was in addition to the suitcase with my business clothes, the bag with all my "beauty maintenance" items, the tote with my laptop, tablet, agenda book, board binder, and my purse. I am pretty sure the car was a few inches lower with the weight of all my gear, and I admit I did have a concern or two about turning into a bag lady.
Then, of course, the bike rack and bike itself had to be mounted on the car.
It was quite a process.
But I rode. I took the time to pack my professional clothes and send them with a colleague so I could do an hour-long ride in the mornings, ride to the meeting sites, and get cleaned up and presentable at those sites. Cody has an upper and lower section, which denotes a pretty decent climb from one section to the other. I am proud to say that after my adventures in Grand Junction and all the advice and encouragement from my new friends Peter and Dianne, I not only did not avoid those climbs, but sought them out. That's right. My new perspective was, "Oooooh, there's a climb. I'm doing it! It's good for me!" (True.)
So.... I am s-t-r-e-t-c-h-I-n-g and GROWING. Feels pretty damn good, to tell you the truth. (Aches and pains notwithstanding..)
I'm not going to lie. Working cycling into travel, meetings and daily life is a time-consuming and fussy project, and often means making choices about where my time is best spent. I'm hoping that as I make it a priority, more and more it will become second nature and a quick process that highlights organization and efficiency, two pieces still lacking as far as I am concerned.
The upside? I am starting to feel like a "real" cyclist and an "active person" -- way exciting.
Thanks, blog.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Kind of a Big Stretch - Part Two (Sunday)
Saturday night we decided that Fred and I would ride with Peter the next morning. I still felt nervous about this because Peter is way fit and a very experienced cyclist, but the great thing about him is that he has this awesome, laid back, accepting demeanor that made me feel relaxed and comfortable. I knew he would be patient and non-judgmental on the ride.
But when I woke up Sunday, tired and sore from the day before, my anxiety returned, especially when we started talking about where to ride and decided that a descent into the monument and a ride along the rim would be the route. If I am a novice and a slow rider in general, I am 100 times worse on climbs. But I didn't want to be a baby, and was also operating under the conviction that I needed to challenge myself and establish a benchmark at the same time.
And so we started out. There was about a mile of downhill riding on a gravel road, which was tough for this scaredy cat. Gravel freaks me out because I'm desperately afraid of my wheels skidding sideways, causing me to crash. When I was 12 I was standing up, pedaling furiously on my bike and one of the pedals came off. I crashed hard, sliding several feet on concrete and gravel and still remember the pain of my mom picking the gravel out of my hip, ribs and arms. Definite negative emotional tagging there. Happily, no crashes today.
The first part of the ride was great. More downhill riding than climbing and breathtaking, stunning vistas, which you will see below this blog. But as we rode down, down, down, I worried more and more about the up, up, up that would be necessary in order to get back to the house. About midway through we did a fairly ambitious climb, and I could feel the previous day's ride, because pushing uphill was even harder than usual. Then there was a long, steep downhill ride. It was like flying. So much fun. But when we turned back toward home, the real work began.
Peter is really, really good at climbing and genuinely enjoys it. By my estimation, he climbed about three times as much as Fred and I, because we would begin a long hill and he would take off like a bullet, riding up the hill, then turning around and coming back down to where we were to check on us and start all over. He was amazing, offering advice and encourage and lots of energy to the experience. I was thinking that Peter is to cycling what Brett Favre was to football (before he got weird and creepy.) He has this great boyish joy about riding that is infectious, and it makes me want to get really good at it so I can love it the way he does.
That being said, today was the hardest physical challenge I have ever attempted. I have never been so out of breath for so long a period of time in my whole life. We climbed 1200 feet the second part of the ride, and I slowly dragged my carcass up every inch of it, huffing and puffing the whole way. It was such hard work that I couldn't recover in-between climbs, so each one started more out-of-breath than the last one.
And I had to contend with both my fragility AND my ego. So at some point I started doing this weird half-gasping, half-crying thing where I would suck in a huge gulp of air and then push it out in these ragged, pathetic sobs. Then I would see Peter riding back down the hill toward me and my pride would force me to swallow it and get it together long enough to say, "Oh, I'm fine. I may be slow, but I am determined."
When I became not only teary but really shaky I realized I need to get some calories into me. I stopped to drink water and eat these tasty little gummy energy bites. Fred stopped, too, and downed an energy bar, and Peter rode back, I think a little mystified as to why the ride was even taking long enough or taking enough energy to warrant a mini-meal. Apparently my façade was also starting to break down, because he offered to ride back to the house and bring his truck back so we could throw our bikes in the back and be done. "No!" I said. "I am going to finish this ride. I may be slow, but I can do it." (All false bravado. I really doubted I could make it all the way back at this point and was beginning to wonder the exact spot in which I would lie down on the side of the road, unable to make one more revolution of the pedals.)
Fred was jubilant, by the way. Although he, too, felt sore and extremely fatigued by the ride, he was buoyed by the thought that what we were doing was harder than any single day of our September ride will be. We finished our energy snacks and started another long, steep climb. Peter stayed by my side as I began to lose my breath again and encouraged me. "When you get to the top of the hill -- see those three arrows?-- it will be the crest. Well, there is one more hill, but then it's downhill and easy riding from there."
"Okay," I told him. "I got this. But go on and ride ahead, because if I start to cry I want to do it alone." Peter laughed, reassured me one more time and took off. I gritted my teeth and worked my granny gear. At the top of the hill the road veered left behind a cluster of trees, so I couldn't really see where the road went as I climbed. But I kept my eyes fixed on the top of the hill, telling myself that this was it -- the last tough piece. And I did it. I got to the top of the hill, turned left... and there was another steep hill (which Peter had referenced, but which had not registered in my oxygen-deprived brain.) I stopped my bike.
Fred turned and rode back to me, and when he asked, "Are you okay?" I shook my head. No, I wasn't, and this time I didn't bother trying not to cry in front of anyone. Like a pressure valve releasing, tears streamed down my cheeks, and Fred was smart enough and kind enough to just let me cry.
But you know what? I finished the ride. After that last climb, there was a most glorious downhill ride and about halfway down, I felt the energy from the food we had consumed kick in. There were about four final miles of mostly rolling hills, and they flew by like nothing. And afterward, I had something huge to feel proud of. Dianne met us as we were coming back up the driveway. "How did it go?" she asked.
"It was hard," I replied. "I cried a little, but I stayed on my bike." Yeah, probably not the best thing to tell her, because she looked a little alarmed and asked me several times after that if I was okay. I hadn't known her long enough to disclose my weeper tendencies, or that I am surprisingly gritty despite the sometimes freely-flowing tears.
We finished our stay with a brunch of omelets and peach and walnut pancakes. The weekend was so great for learning, growing, testing my limits and getting a more accurate picture of the road ahead (no pun intended.) As I told Peter, there is some work to be done in the next month. There's a road off of 189 that is a two-mile long climb, and I think I need to get on it and ride up and back, up and back over and over to practice.
In the coming days I will reflect more on all the subtle and outright things I learned, but for now, thanks blog.
And thanks so much to Dianne and Peter, our wonderful hosts and mentors, for an incredible weekend.
But when I woke up Sunday, tired and sore from the day before, my anxiety returned, especially when we started talking about where to ride and decided that a descent into the monument and a ride along the rim would be the route. If I am a novice and a slow rider in general, I am 100 times worse on climbs. But I didn't want to be a baby, and was also operating under the conviction that I needed to challenge myself and establish a benchmark at the same time.
And so we started out. There was about a mile of downhill riding on a gravel road, which was tough for this scaredy cat. Gravel freaks me out because I'm desperately afraid of my wheels skidding sideways, causing me to crash. When I was 12 I was standing up, pedaling furiously on my bike and one of the pedals came off. I crashed hard, sliding several feet on concrete and gravel and still remember the pain of my mom picking the gravel out of my hip, ribs and arms. Definite negative emotional tagging there. Happily, no crashes today.
The first part of the ride was great. More downhill riding than climbing and breathtaking, stunning vistas, which you will see below this blog. But as we rode down, down, down, I worried more and more about the up, up, up that would be necessary in order to get back to the house. About midway through we did a fairly ambitious climb, and I could feel the previous day's ride, because pushing uphill was even harder than usual. Then there was a long, steep downhill ride. It was like flying. So much fun. But when we turned back toward home, the real work began.
Peter is really, really good at climbing and genuinely enjoys it. By my estimation, he climbed about three times as much as Fred and I, because we would begin a long hill and he would take off like a bullet, riding up the hill, then turning around and coming back down to where we were to check on us and start all over. He was amazing, offering advice and encourage and lots of energy to the experience. I was thinking that Peter is to cycling what Brett Favre was to football (before he got weird and creepy.) He has this great boyish joy about riding that is infectious, and it makes me want to get really good at it so I can love it the way he does.
That being said, today was the hardest physical challenge I have ever attempted. I have never been so out of breath for so long a period of time in my whole life. We climbed 1200 feet the second part of the ride, and I slowly dragged my carcass up every inch of it, huffing and puffing the whole way. It was such hard work that I couldn't recover in-between climbs, so each one started more out-of-breath than the last one.
And I had to contend with both my fragility AND my ego. So at some point I started doing this weird half-gasping, half-crying thing where I would suck in a huge gulp of air and then push it out in these ragged, pathetic sobs. Then I would see Peter riding back down the hill toward me and my pride would force me to swallow it and get it together long enough to say, "Oh, I'm fine. I may be slow, but I am determined."
When I became not only teary but really shaky I realized I need to get some calories into me. I stopped to drink water and eat these tasty little gummy energy bites. Fred stopped, too, and downed an energy bar, and Peter rode back, I think a little mystified as to why the ride was even taking long enough or taking enough energy to warrant a mini-meal. Apparently my façade was also starting to break down, because he offered to ride back to the house and bring his truck back so we could throw our bikes in the back and be done. "No!" I said. "I am going to finish this ride. I may be slow, but I can do it." (All false bravado. I really doubted I could make it all the way back at this point and was beginning to wonder the exact spot in which I would lie down on the side of the road, unable to make one more revolution of the pedals.)
Fred was jubilant, by the way. Although he, too, felt sore and extremely fatigued by the ride, he was buoyed by the thought that what we were doing was harder than any single day of our September ride will be. We finished our energy snacks and started another long, steep climb. Peter stayed by my side as I began to lose my breath again and encouraged me. "When you get to the top of the hill -- see those three arrows?-- it will be the crest. Well, there is one more hill, but then it's downhill and easy riding from there."
"Okay," I told him. "I got this. But go on and ride ahead, because if I start to cry I want to do it alone." Peter laughed, reassured me one more time and took off. I gritted my teeth and worked my granny gear. At the top of the hill the road veered left behind a cluster of trees, so I couldn't really see where the road went as I climbed. But I kept my eyes fixed on the top of the hill, telling myself that this was it -- the last tough piece. And I did it. I got to the top of the hill, turned left... and there was another steep hill (which Peter had referenced, but which had not registered in my oxygen-deprived brain.) I stopped my bike.
Fred turned and rode back to me, and when he asked, "Are you okay?" I shook my head. No, I wasn't, and this time I didn't bother trying not to cry in front of anyone. Like a pressure valve releasing, tears streamed down my cheeks, and Fred was smart enough and kind enough to just let me cry.
But you know what? I finished the ride. After that last climb, there was a most glorious downhill ride and about halfway down, I felt the energy from the food we had consumed kick in. There were about four final miles of mostly rolling hills, and they flew by like nothing. And afterward, I had something huge to feel proud of. Dianne met us as we were coming back up the driveway. "How did it go?" she asked.
"It was hard," I replied. "I cried a little, but I stayed on my bike." Yeah, probably not the best thing to tell her, because she looked a little alarmed and asked me several times after that if I was okay. I hadn't known her long enough to disclose my weeper tendencies, or that I am surprisingly gritty despite the sometimes freely-flowing tears.
We finished our stay with a brunch of omelets and peach and walnut pancakes. The weekend was so great for learning, growing, testing my limits and getting a more accurate picture of the road ahead (no pun intended.) As I told Peter, there is some work to be done in the next month. There's a road off of 189 that is a two-mile long climb, and I think I need to get on it and ride up and back, up and back over and over to practice.
In the coming days I will reflect more on all the subtle and outright things I learned, but for now, thanks blog.
And thanks so much to Dianne and Peter, our wonderful hosts and mentors, for an incredible weekend.
Kind of a Big Stretch - Part One (Saturday)
We got home a little while ago from our adventure in the Grand Junction area. I tried to blog last night, but was simultaneously exhausted and keyed up and couldn't put two coherent sentences together. Then today I tried again during the ride home and still couldn't focus my thoughts.
You know how it is when so much is jam-packed into a short time that it's hard to figure out what to say about it and what angle to approach it from? That was this past weekend. But I just got done talking to my sister, Rebecca, recounting the past few days, and now feel ready to blog. (Unfortunately for Rebecca, if she reads this, it's going to sound really familiar. But that's what sisters are for, right??)
We spent the weekend at Fred's sister and brother-in-law's place in Glade Park. Peter and Dianne have 35 acres that sit above the Colorado National Monument. They are avid cyclists, and were gracious enough to invite my family to stay with them so that Fred and I could log some hours together on our bikes. First, let me say that two days in Peter and Dianne's home have made me realize that the Southwest style of home decorating is for me -- something I never would have thought before. The house and the guest house are done in earthy tones of terracotta, oranges, greens and blues, and it was as if my entire soul let out a collective content sigh in the midst of it. Their home is also clearly made for entertaining family and guests... I have never seen space so aptly made for people to sit and visit and enjoy one another. I know exactly who I am going to consult when I am ready to decorate my next home.
We arrived late Friday night and got up moderately early on Saturday. After a light breakfast, we got ready to ride. (Lesson one, Fred and I both need a checklist and better organizational skills, as it took an inexplicably long time to gather everything and get on the road.) The route we took was just over 30 miles long, what I call an "out-and-back" where we road almost to the Utah border and then turned around and rode the same exact path in reverse. It was mostly rolling hills and really just about the distance and time on the bikes.
Fred did really well, as expected, except of course for the four or five times he cut me off when he was riding in front of me. We have now come up with a plan for what Peter and Dianne call "car backs", which is when a car is coming up from behind and riders need to be as close to the shoulder as possible in a single file line. It has been agreed that regardless of who is on the inside or outside, any time there's a car back, I will slow down and Fred will speed up to form a line --- these are the kinds of things you figure out as you ride together.
Anyway, we both felt pretty good when we got back from the ride, sore sit bones and fatigue notwithstanding. Adam and Aislynn were just coming back from a trip to town, but agreed to ride back in with us to go to R.E.I (a sporting good store.) (I now know what Butt'R is, Layne!) We also took a little ride through the downtown of Grand Junction -- tres cute. And good timing, because right about then I was hitting a hypoglycemic low, which is not a good experience for anyone around me, because I get uncharacteristically agitated and impatient and can't make a decision to save my life.
We had a light meal at a bagel shop and then walked around a bike store before returning back to the house for the most delicious meal I've had in a long time. Grilled shish kabobs, corn on the cob, squash, saffron rice and a dessert of brownies (that Aislynn made) and ice cream. Soooo dee-lish. I loved Dianne's comment at the dinner table: "The best thing about riding," she said, "is that you get to really eat!" Cheers to that.
So any day that ends after a good accomplishment, great food, fantastic company and some card-playing gets an "A+" in my book.
Stay tuned, blog. Day 2 was a whole different kind of adventure.
You know how it is when so much is jam-packed into a short time that it's hard to figure out what to say about it and what angle to approach it from? That was this past weekend. But I just got done talking to my sister, Rebecca, recounting the past few days, and now feel ready to blog. (Unfortunately for Rebecca, if she reads this, it's going to sound really familiar. But that's what sisters are for, right??)
We spent the weekend at Fred's sister and brother-in-law's place in Glade Park. Peter and Dianne have 35 acres that sit above the Colorado National Monument. They are avid cyclists, and were gracious enough to invite my family to stay with them so that Fred and I could log some hours together on our bikes. First, let me say that two days in Peter and Dianne's home have made me realize that the Southwest style of home decorating is for me -- something I never would have thought before. The house and the guest house are done in earthy tones of terracotta, oranges, greens and blues, and it was as if my entire soul let out a collective content sigh in the midst of it. Their home is also clearly made for entertaining family and guests... I have never seen space so aptly made for people to sit and visit and enjoy one another. I know exactly who I am going to consult when I am ready to decorate my next home.
We arrived late Friday night and got up moderately early on Saturday. After a light breakfast, we got ready to ride. (Lesson one, Fred and I both need a checklist and better organizational skills, as it took an inexplicably long time to gather everything and get on the road.) The route we took was just over 30 miles long, what I call an "out-and-back" where we road almost to the Utah border and then turned around and rode the same exact path in reverse. It was mostly rolling hills and really just about the distance and time on the bikes.
Fred did really well, as expected, except of course for the four or five times he cut me off when he was riding in front of me. We have now come up with a plan for what Peter and Dianne call "car backs", which is when a car is coming up from behind and riders need to be as close to the shoulder as possible in a single file line. It has been agreed that regardless of who is on the inside or outside, any time there's a car back, I will slow down and Fred will speed up to form a line --- these are the kinds of things you figure out as you ride together.
Anyway, we both felt pretty good when we got back from the ride, sore sit bones and fatigue notwithstanding. Adam and Aislynn were just coming back from a trip to town, but agreed to ride back in with us to go to R.E.I (a sporting good store.) (I now know what Butt'R is, Layne!) We also took a little ride through the downtown of Grand Junction -- tres cute. And good timing, because right about then I was hitting a hypoglycemic low, which is not a good experience for anyone around me, because I get uncharacteristically agitated and impatient and can't make a decision to save my life.
We had a light meal at a bagel shop and then walked around a bike store before returning back to the house for the most delicious meal I've had in a long time. Grilled shish kabobs, corn on the cob, squash, saffron rice and a dessert of brownies (that Aislynn made) and ice cream. Soooo dee-lish. I loved Dianne's comment at the dinner table: "The best thing about riding," she said, "is that you get to really eat!" Cheers to that.
So any day that ends after a good accomplishment, great food, fantastic company and some card-playing gets an "A+" in my book.
Stay tuned, blog. Day 2 was a whole different kind of adventure.
Friday, August 2, 2013
THAT Family
I am blogging from the passenger seat of our Ford Edge. The car is packed with suitcases, backpacks and totes, and our three bikes (Adam's and Aislynn's mountain bikes and my road bike) are mounted on the hitch rack. We are headed down to Grand Junction where Fred and I are going to log some good training mileage and Adam and Aislynn are going to try out some off road trails.
I feel so excited and so proud of us -- we are THAT family this weekend, the ones we all see headed to their healthy, active, sporty weekend. In the past I would glance sideways at them on the freeway as I was headed home to watch movies and gobble popcorn, exhausted and ready for yet another sedentary few days off.
Do you realize I could get one of those bumper stickers that says, "I'd rather be riding my bike" and actually MEAN it?? Hoorah!
The weather is gorgeous, and with each passing town sign (Coalville, Wanship, Kamas) I feel my stress lifting like a morning fog burning off in the sunlight.
Something good is about to happen...I just know it.
I feel so excited and so proud of us -- we are THAT family this weekend, the ones we all see headed to their healthy, active, sporty weekend. In the past I would glance sideways at them on the freeway as I was headed home to watch movies and gobble popcorn, exhausted and ready for yet another sedentary few days off.
Do you realize I could get one of those bumper stickers that says, "I'd rather be riding my bike" and actually MEAN it?? Hoorah!
The weather is gorgeous, and with each passing town sign (Coalville, Wanship, Kamas) I feel my stress lifting like a morning fog burning off in the sunlight.
Something good is about to happen...I just know it.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Are You Kidding??!?!
I finally completed a 33-mile ride today. I felt a great deal of accomplishment, but it wasn't all smiles. A good part of the ride was absolutely agonizing, and most of it was avoidable. Simply put, I made a lot of rookie mistakes.
In no particular order:
1. I didn't eat much the night before, and certainly didn't eat the carbohydrates I should have to get my muscles ready for the ride.
2. I had only a 210 calorie protein shake for breakfast before the ride.
3. I only brought one bottle of water, even though I was likely going to be riding for over three hours.
4. I took only a 120 calorie protein bar with me.
5. My bike was not quipped with any kind of bags or packs to carry needed items.
6. I didn't check wind speed or wind direction before I set out.
Thanks to all the above "should have known better" moves, I rode the 16 miles out to Viva Naughton and was almost out of water when I got there. I sat for a little while on the boat ramp and talked with a gentleman who was putting his boat in the water. I rested for about 15-20 minutes, eating my protein bar as I looked out on the lake. When I rose to head back to town, walking about a fourth of a mile up a hill to get back to the road, I was alarmed at how drained I already felt.
No matter, I thought, the ride in is always easy -- tail winds all the way and more coasting than climbing. I got back on my bike and started pedaling, and it felt as though I had 500 pound weights in both my thighs (can you say lack of carbohydrate energy reserves?). I noticed I wasn't gaining much speed going downhill, and the climbs seemed exponentially more arduous. Eventually I started watching the long grass and shrubs and realized with a sinking feeling that the wind was coming from the south and I was heading back to town in a headwind or strong crosswind, depending on how the road was winding.
It was horrible.
At mile 25 I ran out of water. Miles 26, 27 and 28 seemed to drag on for hours. As I approached mile 29, walking my bike up the hill I no longer had the energy to climb on my bike, I broke down and called my assistant, Kathy. "Can you bring me a bottle of water and any kind of sugar soda?" Humiliating, but honestly, by then I didn't see myself finishing the ride without fluids and quick energy. She met me around mile 30 with two bottles of water and a can of Coke. As I guzzled both, it took pretty much every remaining ounce of self-discipline I had not to crawl into her car and beg her to drive me into town.
I finished the ride. But it wasn't a very good experience.
And THEN... (I know.. you are thinking, "There's MORE??")... I talked to my riding partner, Fred today. Let me give you a little history. Fred just turned 70 and is probably the most fit 70-yr-old I know. He plays racquetball all over the world, and gets extremely restless and irritable if he goes more than a day or two without good physical activity. He is a natural athlete, agile and strong.
HOWEVER... his "training" for this ride thus far has consisted of riding up to 10 miles on a stationary bike. A STATIONARY bike. Indoors. In one place. No ROAD, let alone hills and wind and mosquitos. "You know, Jennifer, I think this stationary bike has done well by me."
Uh huh. Just wait, I thought, until you get out into the real world and ride. Stationary bikes are for wussies. I can't tell you how many times I thought to myself, the road riding is going to eat him for lunch. I have lectured him repeatedly about how the ride is coming up, and he better GET A BIKE and get out on the road.
So yesterday, he rides 8 miles on a borrowed bike. Ok, good start. He sits in the Jacuzzi last night because "his sit bones hurt". Today he tells me he is going to try 22 miles. I feel smug, considering my own 33-mile agenda. After our rides, we compare notes, and the first thing he tells me is that he "ran out of gas". Well, fair enough. A 22-mile ride is pretty ambitious for a guy who rode his first 8 miles of road in training just yesterday.
Yeah. Turns out he felt so good on the borrowed bike that he rode 38 -THIRTY-EIGHT - miles before "running out of gas."
You have to be freakin' kidding me. In what parallel universe is that justice? Fairness? Equity? I have been getting my booty on that bike seat for MONTHS, preparing, training, killing my butt bones. And look who is already all caught up -- Mister The-Stationary-Bike-Has-Done-Well-By-Me.
If that kind of thing doesn't frost you and send some MAJOR sympathy my way, dear reader, then you are reading the wrong blog.
Honestly.
In no particular order:
1. I didn't eat much the night before, and certainly didn't eat the carbohydrates I should have to get my muscles ready for the ride.
2. I had only a 210 calorie protein shake for breakfast before the ride.
3. I only brought one bottle of water, even though I was likely going to be riding for over three hours.
4. I took only a 120 calorie protein bar with me.
5. My bike was not quipped with any kind of bags or packs to carry needed items.
6. I didn't check wind speed or wind direction before I set out.
Thanks to all the above "should have known better" moves, I rode the 16 miles out to Viva Naughton and was almost out of water when I got there. I sat for a little while on the boat ramp and talked with a gentleman who was putting his boat in the water. I rested for about 15-20 minutes, eating my protein bar as I looked out on the lake. When I rose to head back to town, walking about a fourth of a mile up a hill to get back to the road, I was alarmed at how drained I already felt.
No matter, I thought, the ride in is always easy -- tail winds all the way and more coasting than climbing. I got back on my bike and started pedaling, and it felt as though I had 500 pound weights in both my thighs (can you say lack of carbohydrate energy reserves?). I noticed I wasn't gaining much speed going downhill, and the climbs seemed exponentially more arduous. Eventually I started watching the long grass and shrubs and realized with a sinking feeling that the wind was coming from the south and I was heading back to town in a headwind or strong crosswind, depending on how the road was winding.
It was horrible.
At mile 25 I ran out of water. Miles 26, 27 and 28 seemed to drag on for hours. As I approached mile 29, walking my bike up the hill I no longer had the energy to climb on my bike, I broke down and called my assistant, Kathy. "Can you bring me a bottle of water and any kind of sugar soda?" Humiliating, but honestly, by then I didn't see myself finishing the ride without fluids and quick energy. She met me around mile 30 with two bottles of water and a can of Coke. As I guzzled both, it took pretty much every remaining ounce of self-discipline I had not to crawl into her car and beg her to drive me into town.
I finished the ride. But it wasn't a very good experience.
And THEN... (I know.. you are thinking, "There's MORE??")... I talked to my riding partner, Fred today. Let me give you a little history. Fred just turned 70 and is probably the most fit 70-yr-old I know. He plays racquetball all over the world, and gets extremely restless and irritable if he goes more than a day or two without good physical activity. He is a natural athlete, agile and strong.
HOWEVER... his "training" for this ride thus far has consisted of riding up to 10 miles on a stationary bike. A STATIONARY bike. Indoors. In one place. No ROAD, let alone hills and wind and mosquitos. "You know, Jennifer, I think this stationary bike has done well by me."
Uh huh. Just wait, I thought, until you get out into the real world and ride. Stationary bikes are for wussies. I can't tell you how many times I thought to myself, the road riding is going to eat him for lunch. I have lectured him repeatedly about how the ride is coming up, and he better GET A BIKE and get out on the road.
So yesterday, he rides 8 miles on a borrowed bike. Ok, good start. He sits in the Jacuzzi last night because "his sit bones hurt". Today he tells me he is going to try 22 miles. I feel smug, considering my own 33-mile agenda. After our rides, we compare notes, and the first thing he tells me is that he "ran out of gas". Well, fair enough. A 22-mile ride is pretty ambitious for a guy who rode his first 8 miles of road in training just yesterday.
Yeah. Turns out he felt so good on the borrowed bike that he rode 38 -THIRTY-EIGHT - miles before "running out of gas."
You have to be freakin' kidding me. In what parallel universe is that justice? Fairness? Equity? I have been getting my booty on that bike seat for MONTHS, preparing, training, killing my butt bones. And look who is already all caught up -- Mister The-Stationary-Bike-Has-Done-Well-By-Me.
If that kind of thing doesn't frost you and send some MAJOR sympathy my way, dear reader, then you are reading the wrong blog.
Honestly.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Whatever Works...
The weather today was not optimal for cycling. Not even close. Rain, thunder, lightning and even hail fell from the sky. After yesterday's storm debacle, I came home from work today and took a nap without even debating whether to try to get a short ride in.
Then I talked to Fred. Fred is my riding partner for this September ride. He and his wife are in Colorado for the next couple weeks, and we kicked around the idea of Adam, Aislynn and I driving down to Aspen for the weekend so that Fred and I could practice together on a longer ride.
Turns out this is a bad weekend for hotel vouchers. We tried three or four different cities nearby and I was pretty much ready to give up on the plan. Adam and I started to discuss other alternatives for what would be a solo ride for me somewhere here in Wyoming or possibly in Utah.
Then Fred's sister and brother-in-law graciously offered to let us stay with them in Grand Junction AND to do a 35-mile ride with us on Saturday. Peter and Dianne are avid cyclists. We made some tentative plans and I hung up. And immediately started to worry.
I worried so much that I got dressed for riding. Adam only slightly raised his eyebrows as I headed out into the cold, damp, windy evening. I rode around, doing the exact opposite of Layne's advice. Instead of enjoying my cadence and the gorgeous Wyoming landscape, I was frantically climbing, climbing, climbing, worrying the whole way.
What if I can't keep up? What if the ride is too long? What if they take one look at my chubby thighs and round stomach and think, 'Yeah, good luck.' What if I disappoint Fred? What if I disappoint myself? What if I can't handle the climbs? I worried up hills, down hills, through downtown and along Highway 30.
What am I worrying about? That I get to do a benchmark ride with 6 weeks still to go? That I get to do a longish ride with experienced riders who can observe me and make suggestions? That I can pick their brains about what to bring, how to handle problems, how to get my mind straight for the challenge? How are any of these things bad?
I know it's not good. I know I have to get over it. I know I need to take each day one at a time. I know I need to toughen up.
But on the bright side, my worrying did get me on my bike tonight. ;)
Then I talked to Fred. Fred is my riding partner for this September ride. He and his wife are in Colorado for the next couple weeks, and we kicked around the idea of Adam, Aislynn and I driving down to Aspen for the weekend so that Fred and I could practice together on a longer ride.
Turns out this is a bad weekend for hotel vouchers. We tried three or four different cities nearby and I was pretty much ready to give up on the plan. Adam and I started to discuss other alternatives for what would be a solo ride for me somewhere here in Wyoming or possibly in Utah.
Then Fred's sister and brother-in-law graciously offered to let us stay with them in Grand Junction AND to do a 35-mile ride with us on Saturday. Peter and Dianne are avid cyclists. We made some tentative plans and I hung up. And immediately started to worry.
I worried so much that I got dressed for riding. Adam only slightly raised his eyebrows as I headed out into the cold, damp, windy evening. I rode around, doing the exact opposite of Layne's advice. Instead of enjoying my cadence and the gorgeous Wyoming landscape, I was frantically climbing, climbing, climbing, worrying the whole way.
What if I can't keep up? What if the ride is too long? What if they take one look at my chubby thighs and round stomach and think, 'Yeah, good luck.' What if I disappoint Fred? What if I disappoint myself? What if I can't handle the climbs? I worried up hills, down hills, through downtown and along Highway 30.
What am I worrying about? That I get to do a benchmark ride with 6 weeks still to go? That I get to do a longish ride with experienced riders who can observe me and make suggestions? That I can pick their brains about what to bring, how to handle problems, how to get my mind straight for the challenge? How are any of these things bad?
I know it's not good. I know I have to get over it. I know I need to take each day one at a time. I know I need to toughen up.
But on the bright side, my worrying did get me on my bike tonight. ;)
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Layne's Great Advice
I asked my friend Layne (who's claim to cycling fame is that he, among other adventures, rode his bike from Washington State to Maine a few summers ago) what I need to bring along for my upcoming 323 mile ride. His response had lots of good practical advice about sunglasses, nutrients, hydration and the like. All very practical and helpful.
But the single best thing he wrote was, "It's not about the distance on a bike, but using the bike to see our incredible world. Forget that, the day drags. Remember it, it soars." Layne, that's exactly what I would expect from a creative, life-loving genius such as yourself. Thank you!
In about an hour and a half, I am making my third attempt at riding out to Viva Naughton and back. The ride is 32 miles round trip, definitely long enough to put Layne's advice to the test. It's a gorgeous day of sunshine and big, fluffy clouds. Here's to seeing something truly spectacular along the way. See you on the other side of the ride!
(Oh.. and Layne, uh.... I'm not completely sure I want to know what "Butt'R" is yet.....yikes.)
Cheers, blog.
Update:
Still have not accomplished this ride. Tonight, I got about 6 miles out when the wind got so bad I had to get off my bike and start walking it. That's where Adam found me when he came driving up 233. He had been golfing and got concerned at how fast the storm was blowing in.
It kind of feels like a giant conspiracy.
BUT.. I will try it again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day, until I make it.
Below, a picture of the weather... probably not the best for riding!
But the single best thing he wrote was, "It's not about the distance on a bike, but using the bike to see our incredible world. Forget that, the day drags. Remember it, it soars." Layne, that's exactly what I would expect from a creative, life-loving genius such as yourself. Thank you!
In about an hour and a half, I am making my third attempt at riding out to Viva Naughton and back. The ride is 32 miles round trip, definitely long enough to put Layne's advice to the test. It's a gorgeous day of sunshine and big, fluffy clouds. Here's to seeing something truly spectacular along the way. See you on the other side of the ride!
(Oh.. and Layne, uh.... I'm not completely sure I want to know what "Butt'R" is yet.....yikes.)
Cheers, blog.
Update:
Still have not accomplished this ride. Tonight, I got about 6 miles out when the wind got so bad I had to get off my bike and start walking it. That's where Adam found me when he came driving up 233. He had been golfing and got concerned at how fast the storm was blowing in.
It kind of feels like a giant conspiracy.
BUT.. I will try it again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day, until I make it.
Below, a picture of the weather... probably not the best for riding!
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Pecking Away at Problems
Late yesterday afternoon, the sky got dark. The wind blew hard and the temperature dropped. Such a tease, Mother Nature. Much needed rain never did fall, but the promise of it was enough that it deterred me from getting on my bike. From 5 pm til about 7:30 pm, it was a very legitimate decision.
But at 7:30, the clouds had blown over, the sun was shining, albeit starting to set, and the wind had died down to about the closest thing to a dead calm I have seen since moving here. There was a good hour of decent light left, so I could have gotten on my bike and done some training.
I did not.
By then I had already "resigned" myself to taking the night off, and I didn't have the mental fortitude to change directions and take advantage of the opportunity that had presented itself.
Which brings me to my thoughts today. Work has been hard lately. Tough, consuming situations that have drained both emotions and energy. Home has been hard lately. Parenting is a tough gig, and parenting a "tween" seems an especially tough gig. And this training is really hard, with moments of brilliance and light but other moments of worry, failure, dread and paralyzing self-doubt.
I used to be an avid reader of M. Scott Peck, a psycho-analyst and author who wrote a number of books, the most well-known of which was The Road Less Traveled. His starting premise has always stuck with me. He begins by saying that life is difficult, and life's problems are difficult and then focuses on the role of discpline in taking on those problems. "Without discipline we can solve nothing. With only some discipline we can solve only some problems. With total discipline we can solve all problems."
This is important because I have really been examining my approach as a parent, a manager and an individual and have been looking at some things I want and need to change -- things that require consistency and focus, which translates to discipline. And a big part of it is having the discipline to use my time wisely and not waste precious moments, hours, parts of days -- time just isn't refillable. We all have a finite amount of it in our lifespan. So wasted moments cannot actually be recovered.
Peck addresses this too.... he says, “Until you value yourself, you won't value your time. Until you value your time, you will not do anything with it. ” I am finally at a stage in my life where I am genuinely happy to be me, genuinely happy to be living my life. But this is a fairly new perspective on my part, and I think many years of not valuing myself and my time have led to a practice of not always being wise about my days (and nights).
All of the things I want to change (body, mind, spirit) will take true work, but I need to remember that these are not just things "I have to do", but rather investments in the kind of quality life I want to lead and the kind of quality person I want to be. Investments in Plan A, as it were.
So.. discipline. Okay.
One, two, three, GO.
Thanks, blog.
But at 7:30, the clouds had blown over, the sun was shining, albeit starting to set, and the wind had died down to about the closest thing to a dead calm I have seen since moving here. There was a good hour of decent light left, so I could have gotten on my bike and done some training.
I did not.
By then I had already "resigned" myself to taking the night off, and I didn't have the mental fortitude to change directions and take advantage of the opportunity that had presented itself.
Which brings me to my thoughts today. Work has been hard lately. Tough, consuming situations that have drained both emotions and energy. Home has been hard lately. Parenting is a tough gig, and parenting a "tween" seems an especially tough gig. And this training is really hard, with moments of brilliance and light but other moments of worry, failure, dread and paralyzing self-doubt.
I used to be an avid reader of M. Scott Peck, a psycho-analyst and author who wrote a number of books, the most well-known of which was The Road Less Traveled. His starting premise has always stuck with me. He begins by saying that life is difficult, and life's problems are difficult and then focuses on the role of discpline in taking on those problems. "Without discipline we can solve nothing. With only some discipline we can solve only some problems. With total discipline we can solve all problems."
This is important because I have really been examining my approach as a parent, a manager and an individual and have been looking at some things I want and need to change -- things that require consistency and focus, which translates to discipline. And a big part of it is having the discipline to use my time wisely and not waste precious moments, hours, parts of days -- time just isn't refillable. We all have a finite amount of it in our lifespan. So wasted moments cannot actually be recovered.
Peck addresses this too.... he says, “Until you value yourself, you won't value your time. Until you value your time, you will not do anything with it. ” I am finally at a stage in my life where I am genuinely happy to be me, genuinely happy to be living my life. But this is a fairly new perspective on my part, and I think many years of not valuing myself and my time have led to a practice of not always being wise about my days (and nights).
All of the things I want to change (body, mind, spirit) will take true work, but I need to remember that these are not just things "I have to do", but rather investments in the kind of quality life I want to lead and the kind of quality person I want to be. Investments in Plan A, as it were.
So.. discipline. Okay.
One, two, three, GO.
Thanks, blog.
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