the tao of cycling: me and louis

Thursday, June 3, 2010

me and louis

lest you think I've stopped loving utah, I must tell you about yesterday's ride.
it was a simple thing, up emigration and down to little dell and back, but I spent most of it swiveling my head back and forth, up to the left, up to the right, admiring the green hillsides and the lush growth spurting from yards along the way. the sky was blue and the pavement was still damp in places from the early morning rain, and the temperature hovered right in the perfect zone for my entire ride. (that would be mid-60's, possibly upper 60's for my descent, sunshine throughout.)
even the road workers were pleasant.
they're getting to know me, I think: they've been patching and filling cracks for the past ten days or so, and they are awfully kind to all of us bicyclists whipping through between their SLOW and STOP signs.
(but as I reflect on this, I've decided that I'm full of self-aggrandizement to think that they're recognizing me. hundreds, if not a thousand, of bikers must past them during the day, and who am I to think that they're remembering little old me? )
the most beautiful piece yesterday was the scene to my east as I rode through the golf course: the foothills are thick with green growth, rounding and shaded in each groove and crevasse. the golf course itself has never looked richer, and the sweet air, cool and just slightly damp, completed my magical experience.

it all brings to mind a conversation I had last weekend about riding bicycles in different locales. one could fly across the ocean to ride in hawaii or france, or one could drive 2000 miles to ride in maine and vermont, or one could leave from their own driveway. each experience would be rich and distinguishable from the others, but it is terribly difficult to rank them. I know I talked up the ouray to red mountain pass ride, and I was truly awed by my experience there, but as I looked at our snow-dusted mountain peaks today I fell right back into my spot of loving this place in which I live and ride.

my conclusion, then, is that there are so many beautiful, stunning, awe-inspiring places in this world in which I might ride my bicycle that I will never be able to experience even a small percentage of them. I choose to be grateful for each one I do encounter, and will work toward discovering more of them close to home as I fill up my piggy bank for the ones somewhat farther away.

picture if you will louis armstrong's generous cheeks and twinkling eyes, his gentle girth and his love for making music, and perhaps you'll even be able to hear his voice in your head singing the chorus of one of my very favorite ~ and appropriate, today ~ songs:

and I think to myself,
what a wonderful world . . .

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the Male Ego

The other day I was coming down a canyon in my drop bars (two years ago I would have said, 'what's a drop bar?'), working hard, when I came up on two guys who were also heading downhill but at a more leisurely pace. I passed them, said hello as I did so, and pulled back into the bike lane. a few minutes later they went flying past me, faces looking dead ahead, not a single bit of acknowledgment that I even existed on this planet let alone was involved in and enjoying the same sport they were.
I have to attribute this to the male ego. what else can it be? now I know we all have egos, myself included. and mine even shows its ridiculous little head once in a while, or perhaps more often. but the difference between mine and say, those of certain men on bicycles, is that I KNOW mine exists and I can LAUGH at mine. I know my ego was quite excited to pass those guys, and I could also smile because I knew if the men had really been working like I was, they would have kicked my butt down the hill.
I think I pissed them off.
and I'm sure I will be sharing with you much more of my thoughts about the male ego . . .

a little history

I was married, and I had a mountain bike which I rarely rode. we separated, I moved out, and four months later someone stole my bike. the next spring, 2005, I bought myself a new mountain bike. I rode occasionally, and in april 2006 I rode in my first century, the Cactus Hugger in St. George, Utah. I made it 54 miles on that mountain bike, and it took me about 6 hours. I think that included the rest stops where I prayed that someone would steal my bike again . . .
in june 2006 I started riding my mountain bike five mornings a week, a 45-55 minute loop that was intended to be all about exercise. and what I found was that I loved the quiet, peaceful morning full of bird chatter and barely breaking sunrises. by that fall I was hooked, and began considering the purchase of a road bike. I rode up emigration canyon for the first time that Labor Day of 2006, panting and plowing along on my trusty (heavy) bike, and a month later I was the proud owner of my own road bike: I had become a two-bike girl!
a 17-week-long "power camp" over the winter and a handful of new friends kept bicycling front and center in my life, and when spring of 2007 rolled around I was ready to hit the pavement. I rode my first century the end of april, when I again went to St. George and completed that Cactus Hugger. it took me about 7 hours, but this time I rode the entire 100 miles with about 9300 feet of vertical gain. woo hoo!
I started riding canyons around our area, emigration and millcreek, city creek, big cottonwood, little mountain and big mountain, and once--yes, only once--little cottonwood.
then in september of 2007, I rode from Logan, Utah, to Jackson, Wyoming, in the slightly infamous LOTOJA race. I rode, I did not race. and I completed the thing, crediting my good training buddies, the incredibly perfect weather, my support team, and an amazing convergence of all things positive in the universe.
I put in about 3500 miles last season, and as of today, july 19, 2008, I have about 1700 in, adding to it every day.
I have again signed on to ride the LOTOJA race, and my goal is to have just somewhere near as great a ride as I did last year. oh, and to have someone fun to talk with along the way as I got incredibly bored last year . . . star valley is still a nightmare scene in my biking memories . . .
and here is a picture of the machine that has helped me reclaim my life.