it's my friend holly who first suggested early-morning workouts, and although she followed a schedule of 3-4 times a week, leaving home around 6am, I somehow discovered that what worked best (?) for me was 6 times a week, leaving home around 5.
and it's that beautiful time of the year when it's dark at 5 but lightening by 5:30, with fully bright skies shortly after 6. the air is filled with bird chatter, the world is fragrant with green growth, and critters scamper through the underbrush on either side of the road. yellow daisies have burst forth on hillsides, and it's just a darn amazing time of year for us early rising cyclists and runners.
at the mouth of the canyon I look before and behind me, my eyes searching out other headlights and taillights, and it's a rare morning I see either. monday morning a cyclist passed me about 5 miles up, but for most of my upward climbs I am alone, absorbing, thinking, glorying in it all.
this morning I passed a cyclist at---interestingly---about that same 5-mile-up spot, and as I pulled alongside him I noticed his graying hair and the upward lift of the corners of his lips.
good morning, I said, smiling.
it's a beautiful day, isn't it? he said.
oh yeah, I returned, pedaling, grinning.
and therein lies the gist of this post.
I limited myself; he didn't.
I tend to say, it's a beautiful morning, isn't it?
he said, it's a beautiful day.
he didn't stop at the present moment: he carried the beauty forward, he projected, he determined, he chose. his day was beautiful.
and thus I've resolved to start thinking like him. those incredibly beautiful mornings I'm fortunate enough to participate in are not simply mornings. they are the beginning of days, and they will no longer be segmented for me. I will acknowledge them as entire days, carrying the joy and wonder with me, not letting that early morning experience escape, become lost, get left behind as the hours move forward.
it's a beautiful day, isn't it?
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Saturday, April 27, 2013
I own the world
today's thought, as I crested the back side of big mountain and the panorama spread before me was filled with snow-tipped mountain peaks, greening valleys, trees galore and an endless blue sky, began with my thinking "I own the world."
this sounds selfish and egotistical, doesn't it? a little greedy.
I don't mean it that way, that's just the first way it comes to mind. when I revise it in an attempt to gain greater accuracy, it changes to "I'm on top of the world."
which, if you take literally, isn't accurate at all.
so I keep trying to make my meaning more clear: "I am so amazingly happy to be where I am right now, having accomplished what I just did, and I just feel in complete harmony with this glorious world."
too verbose.
"I love this world."
"I am one with everything in the universe."
"I just climbed both sides of this big stinking hill and I'm thrilled to be done and see the view from up here."
this is what was moving through my mind as I began the downhill coast, and I never did come up with the perfect statement. because it's all those things: the sense of accomplishment, the relief that the hardest work is over, the incredible view, my effort that earned that view, the fact that I'm out in this stunningly beautiful world and breathing pine-scented air, the deeply spiritual connection I have with being in the natural world.
it's why I ride, it's what keeps me getting on my bike again and again, it's why I work hard when I ride:
because I love that feeling that causes that phrase to bubble up in my mind, I own the world.
it's possible, I guess, in my own little unselfish way, I do.
this sounds selfish and egotistical, doesn't it? a little greedy.
I don't mean it that way, that's just the first way it comes to mind. when I revise it in an attempt to gain greater accuracy, it changes to "I'm on top of the world."
which, if you take literally, isn't accurate at all.
so I keep trying to make my meaning more clear: "I am so amazingly happy to be where I am right now, having accomplished what I just did, and I just feel in complete harmony with this glorious world."
too verbose.
"I love this world."
"I am one with everything in the universe."
"I just climbed both sides of this big stinking hill and I'm thrilled to be done and see the view from up here."
this is what was moving through my mind as I began the downhill coast, and I never did come up with the perfect statement. because it's all those things: the sense of accomplishment, the relief that the hardest work is over, the incredible view, my effort that earned that view, the fact that I'm out in this stunningly beautiful world and breathing pine-scented air, the deeply spiritual connection I have with being in the natural world.
it's why I ride, it's what keeps me getting on my bike again and again, it's why I work hard when I ride:
because I love that feeling that causes that phrase to bubble up in my mind, I own the world.
it's possible, I guess, in my own little unselfish way, I do.
Monday, April 15, 2013
a better version of bad
I've been meaning to address this for over a month---in fact, ever since greg commented that I should be riding my bike, not riding in my car to an indoor spin-bike workout---and am finally getting to it. tardily. but some things are difficult to think through and incorporate (take into the body), and this is one of them.
recently I read a book title cradle to cradle, by a chemist-and-architect writing duo. the proposals laid forth in this book regard re-envisioning the way we do . . . well . . . just about everything. how we design machines and consumer goods and packaging, how we live, how we travel, how we design our lives. the book challenges the way we think about what we do, and it significantly challenges the status quo.
the authors suggest that we stop going along with "the way things have always been done," and re-think things from the ground up. from the cradle . . . creating items---homes---businesses---methods---that are well-designed enough that when we're 'done' with them they can be reformed into something else . . . returning to the cradle again.
this means instead of just designing a plastic bottle that can be recycled into something less, we design a plastic bottle that will decompose back into the soil, releasing seeds that will grow into a plant. or that we design manufacturing processes that instead of creating byproducts that are biohazards, create byproducts that benefit the environment.
it takes a wide open mind, it takes removal of all the walls and boxes within which we often think and live.
the authors suggest it's possible.
and by tackling these projects, ideas, goods, methods, systems, we can create a place where what we do/eat/recycle/throw away/make is actually good and of benefit to the environment, instead of what we now have, which is a place where we who try to be good are really only being less bad.
it's not a good feeling to know that you are being only a better version of bad.
we are incredibly wasteful as a society, and I try to be an efficient, thoughtful consumer: I arrange errands in groups so to minimize my driving, I recycle as many things as our city offers bins for, I am constantly turning unneeded lights off in my home, I try to water my lawn as little as necessary and consider water needs when choosing new plants, I always take reusable bags to the grocery store. I sometimes ride my bike for errands where I don't have to carry much. I collect fruit and vegetable peelings for compost. I don't like purchasing goods which are over-packaged, but I find it hard to completely avoid. and I am making such a teeny tiny dent in our consumption-based society that it probably doesn't even matter.
I am less bad than I could be.
as a society I'd like us to be less wasteful and more appreciative of what we have. I'd like to use less gas and create less pollution. I'd like a smaller carbon footprint. and I am by no means alone.
for those of us who feel caught in this giant system and unable to do much about it, we might just have to suffer through those feelings for a while longer, until more powerful people are willing to get on board and make a few changes. until then, I suppose I'll keep doing my little things while continuing to consider better ways to operate.
and I'll try to feel better about simply being a better version of bad.
recently I read a book title cradle to cradle, by a chemist-and-architect writing duo. the proposals laid forth in this book regard re-envisioning the way we do . . . well . . . just about everything. how we design machines and consumer goods and packaging, how we live, how we travel, how we design our lives. the book challenges the way we think about what we do, and it significantly challenges the status quo.
the authors suggest that we stop going along with "the way things have always been done," and re-think things from the ground up. from the cradle . . . creating items---homes---businesses---methods---that are well-designed enough that when we're 'done' with them they can be reformed into something else . . . returning to the cradle again.
this means instead of just designing a plastic bottle that can be recycled into something less, we design a plastic bottle that will decompose back into the soil, releasing seeds that will grow into a plant. or that we design manufacturing processes that instead of creating byproducts that are biohazards, create byproducts that benefit the environment.
it takes a wide open mind, it takes removal of all the walls and boxes within which we often think and live.
the authors suggest it's possible.
and by tackling these projects, ideas, goods, methods, systems, we can create a place where what we do/eat/recycle/throw away/make is actually good and of benefit to the environment, instead of what we now have, which is a place where we who try to be good are really only being less bad.
it's not a good feeling to know that you are being only a better version of bad.
we are incredibly wasteful as a society, and I try to be an efficient, thoughtful consumer: I arrange errands in groups so to minimize my driving, I recycle as many things as our city offers bins for, I am constantly turning unneeded lights off in my home, I try to water my lawn as little as necessary and consider water needs when choosing new plants, I always take reusable bags to the grocery store. I sometimes ride my bike for errands where I don't have to carry much. I collect fruit and vegetable peelings for compost. I don't like purchasing goods which are over-packaged, but I find it hard to completely avoid. and I am making such a teeny tiny dent in our consumption-based society that it probably doesn't even matter.
I am less bad than I could be.
as a society I'd like us to be less wasteful and more appreciative of what we have. I'd like to use less gas and create less pollution. I'd like a smaller carbon footprint. and I am by no means alone.
for those of us who feel caught in this giant system and unable to do much about it, we might just have to suffer through those feelings for a while longer, until more powerful people are willing to get on board and make a few changes. until then, I suppose I'll keep doing my little things while continuing to consider better ways to operate.
and I'll try to feel better about simply being a better version of bad.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
not a single cyclist
highway 89 can take you from montpelier, idaho, to jackson hole, wyoming (and thousands of other places as well), and last friday I let it.
I've ridden that stretch on my bicycle 6 times now, and I was excited to drive it in april to relive those early-september experiences. yes, montpelier to jackson is a long segment of the annual Lotoja race held each september.
last friday it was cloudy, rainy, cold, sunless: weather I've never experienced riding my bike there. the weather was foreign, but the road was as familiar as a long-lost friend, almost every curve and bend and change of grade something I knew and remembered.
it's a long drive that calls to mind just what a challenge it is to travel this road by bicycle. I spent most of my drive in a mind drift, thinking of my cycling experiences, absorbing the quickly-changing scenery, and noting just how different things look from behind the windshield and in the plush leather(ette) seat of a car.
star valley surprised me the most: it's much wider and much more beautiful than I've ever noticed, especially at its southern end. that may be partially due to the snow dusting the tops of the western foothills, adding definition and relief to what may sometimes in the dusty brown of fall fade into itself. I may, this time, have also had more time to notice what was to my left and right and above me, as I trust the steady steering of my car more than that of my body upon my bike. it was beautiful, and next time I ride through the valley I will see and experience it differently.
snake river canyon--the most-used canyon in the jackson hole area--glistened with fresh rain and low-hanging clouds, the river its usual glassy green, thick with bubbles and white froth at the visible rapids. the road through the canyon flows up and down, its lanes--both car and bicycle--wide and even and smooth. in the car, as on my bike, I felt peace and joy to simply be there in this magical spot on earth. with the approach of hoback junction I know I'm close to the end, and this brings exhilaration tinged with a bit of sadness for the loss of all the beauty left behind . . . and then comes a view of the tetons, though friday they were ringed in clouds and visible only in my mind.
my soul and mind slow down in jackson hole. I love this place. I drove moose-wilson road, remembering the times I'd pedaled my way to the finish line. I lowered the window and breathed in cold, clean air, and shivered to be among the stately lodgepole pines.
and not a single cyclist did I see. so different than my usual transit to jackson hole, when I am surrounded by cyclists and cars, smiles and cheers and grimaces and sweat.
I breathed deeply, filled with appreciation for the changing seasons, for the fact that there is a time to dance, and a time to rest, time to sow, and time to lay fallow.
I've ridden that stretch on my bicycle 6 times now, and I was excited to drive it in april to relive those early-september experiences. yes, montpelier to jackson is a long segment of the annual Lotoja race held each september.
last friday it was cloudy, rainy, cold, sunless: weather I've never experienced riding my bike there. the weather was foreign, but the road was as familiar as a long-lost friend, almost every curve and bend and change of grade something I knew and remembered.
it's a long drive that calls to mind just what a challenge it is to travel this road by bicycle. I spent most of my drive in a mind drift, thinking of my cycling experiences, absorbing the quickly-changing scenery, and noting just how different things look from behind the windshield and in the plush leather(ette) seat of a car.
star valley surprised me the most: it's much wider and much more beautiful than I've ever noticed, especially at its southern end. that may be partially due to the snow dusting the tops of the western foothills, adding definition and relief to what may sometimes in the dusty brown of fall fade into itself. I may, this time, have also had more time to notice what was to my left and right and above me, as I trust the steady steering of my car more than that of my body upon my bike. it was beautiful, and next time I ride through the valley I will see and experience it differently.
snake river canyon--the most-used canyon in the jackson hole area--glistened with fresh rain and low-hanging clouds, the river its usual glassy green, thick with bubbles and white froth at the visible rapids. the road through the canyon flows up and down, its lanes--both car and bicycle--wide and even and smooth. in the car, as on my bike, I felt peace and joy to simply be there in this magical spot on earth. with the approach of hoback junction I know I'm close to the end, and this brings exhilaration tinged with a bit of sadness for the loss of all the beauty left behind . . . and then comes a view of the tetons, though friday they were ringed in clouds and visible only in my mind.
my soul and mind slow down in jackson hole. I love this place. I drove moose-wilson road, remembering the times I'd pedaled my way to the finish line. I lowered the window and breathed in cold, clean air, and shivered to be among the stately lodgepole pines.
and not a single cyclist did I see. so different than my usual transit to jackson hole, when I am surrounded by cyclists and cars, smiles and cheers and grimaces and sweat.
I breathed deeply, filled with appreciation for the changing seasons, for the fact that there is a time to dance, and a time to rest, time to sow, and time to lay fallow.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
if you wiggle
if you wiggle,
and you're willing to un-clip a time or two,
and you don't mind getting a rooster tail up your back,
and you don't mind getting your bike wet,
you can ride 2.5 miles past the locked gate, up toward the top of big mountain, skirting fingers and swaths of snow still hugging the asphalt.
grin.
and if you're really lucky---as I apparently am---you will see a moose grazing in the hollow at the bottom of the road up the back side of little mountain.
just another day that I'm awfully glad I hopped on my bike and pedaled up the hill.
and you're willing to un-clip a time or two,
and you don't mind getting a rooster tail up your back,
and you don't mind getting your bike wet,
you can ride 2.5 miles past the locked gate, up toward the top of big mountain, skirting fingers and swaths of snow still hugging the asphalt.
grin.
and if you're really lucky---as I apparently am---you will see a moose grazing in the hollow at the bottom of the road up the back side of little mountain.
just another day that I'm awfully glad I hopped on my bike and pedaled up the hill.
Monday, March 18, 2013
it's about time, or, shopping for a new bike, finale
so, there you go.
that's the bike: a time nxr instinct, black and white with bright green accents.
it's mine mine mine mine mine!
it's beautiful, sleek, awesome, responsive . . . super light, fast, lively . . . and mine.
I've ridden it 4 times: the snowy ride up toward dead horse point, a windy ride up the colorado river, the 4000' of climbing in arches, and a 52-miler two days ago. every time has been terrific: this bike is amazing. what I love most is that when I really give it some power, it goes. whether you call this "power transfer" or "responsiveness" or something else (I am not a bike geek! I don't know these things!), this bike has it.
this, however, does not mean it goes any faster up the hills: I, still, remain it's only power source and unfortunately I am not any newer, better built, or more expensive than I was a week ago.
so, the time is awesome. I am thrilled to have it. and the deal-closer (as I debated and wavered between the cannondale and the time) came in the form of a story and an analogy. of course.
the story---complete with photographs---was about how time creates its bicycle frames. ryan at contender showed me pictures of women (yes, most of this work is done by women, woo-hoo) weaving carbon fibers around molds, building the tubes of the frames. ryan and his wife alison visited the factory in Vaulx-Milieu, France a few years ago where they received a tour and explanation of all that goes into a time bicycle frame. the story was almost too much for me to absorb, but I did understand the point: suffice to say they create works of art.
I was swaying.
and then the analogy, where ryan basically tipped me into the time camp (be aware that ryan, all along, told me that the two bikes I was considering were so very similar that I couldn't choose incorrectly, given my riding pattern, goals, and so on) was this:
for old-fashioned me, who would rather live surrounded by beauty than efficiency, by hand-crafted works and creations than machine-generated anythings (except the keurig, and well, the washing machine, and okay, a few other appliances), he'd said the exact right thing to get me to choose the time.
so john got out his checkbook and bought me a fine example of french craftsmanship.
cannondale is all about technology, and time is all about craftsmanship.
which has already brought me untold pleasure, which I'm sure it will continue to do, and which I'm also sure I will continue to tell you about.
ps: these posts are created using "times" font
that's the bike: a time nxr instinct, black and white with bright green accents.
it's mine mine mine mine mine!
it's beautiful, sleek, awesome, responsive . . . super light, fast, lively . . . and mine.
I've ridden it 4 times: the snowy ride up toward dead horse point, a windy ride up the colorado river, the 4000' of climbing in arches, and a 52-miler two days ago. every time has been terrific: this bike is amazing. what I love most is that when I really give it some power, it goes. whether you call this "power transfer" or "responsiveness" or something else (I am not a bike geek! I don't know these things!), this bike has it.
this, however, does not mean it goes any faster up the hills: I, still, remain it's only power source and unfortunately I am not any newer, better built, or more expensive than I was a week ago.
so, the time is awesome. I am thrilled to have it. and the deal-closer (as I debated and wavered between the cannondale and the time) came in the form of a story and an analogy. of course.
the story---complete with photographs---was about how time creates its bicycle frames. ryan at contender showed me pictures of women (yes, most of this work is done by women, woo-hoo) weaving carbon fibers around molds, building the tubes of the frames. ryan and his wife alison visited the factory in Vaulx-Milieu, France a few years ago where they received a tour and explanation of all that goes into a time bicycle frame. the story was almost too much for me to absorb, but I did understand the point: suffice to say they create works of art.
I was swaying.
and then the analogy, where ryan basically tipped me into the time camp (be aware that ryan, all along, told me that the two bikes I was considering were so very similar that I couldn't choose incorrectly, given my riding pattern, goals, and so on) was this:
for old-fashioned me, who would rather live surrounded by beauty than efficiency, by hand-crafted works and creations than machine-generated anythings (except the keurig, and well, the washing machine, and okay, a few other appliances), he'd said the exact right thing to get me to choose the time.
so john got out his checkbook and bought me a fine example of french craftsmanship.
cannondale is all about technology, and time is all about craftsmanship.
which has already brought me untold pleasure, which I'm sure it will continue to do, and which I'm also sure I will continue to tell you about.
ps: these posts are created using "times" font
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
arches, accomplished
I---for some reason---don't care for the term bucket list. possibly because I'm a word snob, possibly because I don't like cliches (I intend to eventually die, not kick the bucket), probably because I think we could all just be more creative if we tried.
so I don't have a bucket list.
actually, I don't even have much of a wish list.
I tend to take what comes my way instead of searching things out. (I am not saying this is a good way to be: I would probably have more adventures if I started dreaming up things I'd really like to do. I'm just stating the fact that I am not a things-to-do-before-I-die list maker.)
however . . . for the past 6 years I've thought about riding my bike in arches national park.
and this past monday I finally did it.
whee! and grunt, groan, grind. another whee, more groaning and grinding . . .
here's an idea of the elevation gain and loss on the way in:
so I don't have a bucket list.
actually, I don't even have much of a wish list.
I tend to take what comes my way instead of searching things out. (I am not saying this is a good way to be: I would probably have more adventures if I started dreaming up things I'd really like to do. I'm just stating the fact that I am not a things-to-do-before-I-die list maker.)
however . . . for the past 6 years I've thought about riding my bike in arches national park.
and this past monday I finally did it.
whee! and grunt, groan, grind. another whee, more groaning and grinding . . .
here's an idea of the elevation gain and loss on the way in:
and then what you need to understand is that after you reach the turn-around point (the tip of that last blue peak) you have to turn around and come back out . . . going back down (whee!) and up (groan) and down (whee!) and up (grunt) and down (whew!).
it was one heck of a gorgeous ride with--truly--never a dull moment. it wasn't an easy ride, but my new bike performed beautifully, and during the moments when I wasn't freezing or shaking with the cooling-off-sweaty-chills, I couldn't have been in a better place.
I mentioned in my prior post from moab that the landscape here sends me inward, to introspective and contemplative places. I had long stretches of solitary miles, me, the red rocks, the blue sky, the wind . . . all so good for the soul.
I'm glad I finally rode it.
I'm still not ready to make a list of things to do before I die, but there is one more ride I've been thinking about . . .
more on that---and an answer to what bike I'm riding these days---soon!
hope you find some whee! somewhere, somehow, today.
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